


hold onto your rose

by just_fine_thank_you_for_asking



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: I have no idea how to tag, M/M, Tim is mentioned, also spoilers up through season 3 of tma, basically they're in an art gallery. but spooky, if you care about that at all, nikola cameo, spooky art gallery shenanigans with me and the boys, there's a tiny bit of violence but it's not that graphic, this is an ib crossover but you can still read even if you've never heard of ib, twice, uh spoilers for ib
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28509780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_fine_thank_you_for_asking/pseuds/just_fine_thank_you_for_asking
Summary: Jonathan Sims visits an art gallery. Things only go downhill from there.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. the gallery and the blue area

The art gallery was, surprisingly, pretty nice.  
Timothy Stoker, one of Jon’s co-workers back at the Magnus Library (named for its founder, Jonah Magnus), had given him a pass- said it might be a fun break, as he was, in Tim’s words, “always working yourself to death, boss!” Jon had never been much of an art person, but... wow. He could see why the Gregor Orsinov exhibit was so popular. Every piece was finely detailed, realistic, and clearly imbued with passion and thought.  
The very first room of the gallery contained a huge mural of the sea, its water so dark blue it seemed almost black. In the depths, something lurked, though it was hard to see exactly what. Some kind of fish, maybe? Given its position directly on the floor, it seemed almost as if you could jump into it and never rise back to the surface again… A small plaque in front of it read “Abyss of the Deep”.  
Jon continued looking around the first floor, eventually coming across a sculpture. It was a finely rendered larger-than-life piece of a stunning yet fragile-looking dark blue rose, with a caption that read “Beautiful at a glance, but if you get too close, it will induce pain. It can only bloom in wholesome bodies.” The sculpture itself appeared to be titled “Embodiment of Spirit”. Somehow it resonated with Jon. He looked at it a moment longer, then moved on.  
As Jon walked up the stairs to the second floor, one painting caught his eye- a portrait of a young woman with dark skin and long brown hair, frozen mid-scream as she almost appeared to clutch at the orange frame in a desperate attempt to escape. He stopped and moved to look closer at the caption, which simply read “The Original”. Jon stared at the girl- somehow she looked almost familiar? He shook his head- no, of course not, Jon, don’t be an idiot, this was painted decades ago- and resumed walking.  
Upstairs featured several more paintings, a few mannequins (which quite frankly freaked Jon out a bit), and a long hallway. There was only one painting in it: probably the most detailed one yet, it showed a chaotic scene of people, paintings, and dark blue swirls and shadows. Its label read only “Fabricated World”. Jon moved on rather quickly from that one- there was an air of unease about it, and looking at it for a while made his head hurt.  
As Jon exited the hallway he immediately noticed the change in the air, but the difference itself took a moment to register. Where once there had been hordes of people and crowds, now there was... silence. The gallery was completely empty. Jon blinked in confusion. Had the place closed down while he was staring at the Fabricated World? Surely some security guard would have come and found him, right? He began to head back towards the stairs, but he quickly stopped in his tracks. There was a set of footsteps behind him, not his own. Yet the gallery remained completely empty. Jon had never been particularly brave, so he did what anyone would do- he ran for the door.  
It was locked. Was this some elaborate kidnapping scheme? How could it be? Tim had given him the pass, and he trusted Tim, right? Tim was a good person, surely?  
Jon pounded on the door a few times, calling desperately for help, before sinking to his knees. No one was coming. No one was coming. No one was…  
A flickering noise from above, and the lights were out. Jon’s heart missed a beat as he frantically stood up and spun around, searching for some (possibly imaginary) assailant. But of course, yet again, nobody there.  
Feeling himself start to hyperventilate, Jon closed his eyes and attempted a few deep breaths before realizing: of course. The windows.  
This train of thought quickly ceased as he touched the pane and red liquid began to drip down the glass. Jon stifled a scream and stumbled backwards, feeling just about ready to cry. The footsteps were louder now, except... now they weren’t. It was like they were walking away... up the stairs... towards…  
With a sudden sense of dread Jon knew exactly where they were going, but his body seemed to move on its own. He found himself following the sound, up the steps, to the right, and into the hallway, ignoring a cough that seemed to come from a painting’s mouth.  
The Fabricated World painting was leaking blue paint, and the moment he touched it, Jon couldn’t help but actually scream in horror.  
Two words had suddenly appeared on the floor around him, etched in a liquid that looked far too much like blood for Jon’s liking:  
“C O M E J O N”  
And below the painting, written in that same blue paint:  
“come down below jon  
i’ll show you someplace secret”  
This time Jon really did cry.  
He cried as his body once again moved on its own, back down the stairs, this time turning to the left, and facing forward again to stare directly at that same mural of a vast, dark ocean. He remembered it from earlier- hadn’t there been some kind of huge black shadow- an anglerfish, that was it.  
Either way, the fish was gone now, and the rope that blocked off the mural had fallen away…  
Seeing no other option, he jumped.

The water was freezing cold.  
That was the only part of the journey down Jon remembered.  
It was cold, and dark, and he was sinking, sinking...

Then, suddenly, his feet were on solid ground. He almost fell over from the unexpected landing, and reached out a hand to steady himself on the wall. His first reaction was to think he was safe and back in the gallery, but when he looked up…  
The walls were blue. That wasn’t right. The walls of the art gallery had been white, he was sure of it. He looked down again and saw that he was standing on the first step of a long staircase, then behind him…  
Behind him there was just a solid wall.  
Looked like the only way to go was down.  
Jon slowly descended the stairs, almost feverishly glancing left, right, and back to make sure no one was there, ready to attack him. But no, this new place was abandoned and eerily silent.  
At the bottom of the stairs were two paintings, one to the left and one to the right. They were exactly identical: a collection of rocks floating in a sea of liquid, except that the two images were mirror images of each other, and whereas the one on the left had blue liquid like water, the one on the right looked almost like blood. Feeling somewhat sick, Jon quickly decided not to take the right path and headed left.  
The hallway to the left was fairly long, and Jon was so focused on going straight ahead that it took him a moment to notice the light blue words written on the wall:  
“C O M E C O M E C O M E C O M E”  
At the end of the hallway was a door blocked by a table. Jon cautiously moved forward to take a look. The table had a vase on it, with a single, dark blue rose inside- the same color as the walls and floor. He recognized it immediately as the same rose from the sculpture in the gallery. What had its caption said again…? He couldn’t quite remember…  
Jon moved to pick it up, but the moment his fingers touched its stem he was met by a sudden rush of dizziness that he couldn’t explain for the life of him. When his head cleared, he lifted the rose a little closer to his face, noticing that two of its petals seemed to be missing, having probably fallen off as it wilted. It made sense- there was no water in the vase.  
Jon shrugged and started to put the flower back into its vase, but as his hand got closer and closer to the vase, it started to get harder to move as a sudden sense of unease suddenly grew much stronger. He retracted his hand quickly, deciding perhaps he should just keep the rose. He carefully tucked it into one of his skirt’s pockets, pushed the table out of the way (it moved easily), and opened the door.  
Inside he was immediately met with a large, and frankly somewhat disturbing, image of a woman. The painting was surrounded by an orange frame and set against a black background, and portrayed the face and shoulders of a young woman with pale skin, messy blue hair, and the start of a white top. Her eyes were closed and she smiled pleasantly, but quickly Jon saw what was wrong and gave a small gasp- the ends of her hair dangled out of the painting and swayed gently back and forth against the wall.  
Jon didn’t want to move any closer to the painting, but a faint glimmer on the ground caught his eye. There was a blue key there- just below the painting. Jon crouched down and edged forward to grab it, catching sight of the only caption the painting had as he did so:  
“When the rose rots, so too will you rot away.”  
Jon didn’t get a chance to think too hard about this message, though, because when he looked up, key in hand, the painting had changed.  
The woman’s eyes were open now, far too wide, and her tongue now hung out of her open-mouthed grin. She stared directly at him, and her gaze seemed to follow him as he yelped and scrambled backwards, out of the room.  
The hallway was different now, too.  
Instead of “come”, the walls now read, in red paint this time instead of blue:  
“T H I E F T H I E F T H I E F T H I E F”  
Jon’s first instinct when he was scared had never been to freeze, so he didn’t. Instead, he ran, not even stopping when the same red liquid seemed to ooze out of the floor just in front of him to spell out the same word. Finally he emerged, panting, in the first hallway with the two mirrored paintings. When he at last caught his breath, he looked back up and instantly saw that the stairs that he had come down to get here had vanished.  
He could’ve laughed, if he weren’t so terrified. It wasn’t like those stairs had led to a way out anyway. Clutching the blue key in one fist, he headed down the other hallway. This one was much shorter, and had one more painting on it. Its caption read “The Geometrical Fish”, and depicted a grey fish formed out of geometrical shapes and black lines. It was set against a grey background and sported a black inner frame and a grey outer frame. It was fairly detailed, and if Jon looked close enough, he could almost see that it was meant to be the same anglerfish from the mural.  
Straight ahead of the painting was another blue door. Jon tried turning the knob and wasn’t surprised to find that it was locked. Taking the blue key that he had stolen, he put it into the lock. It fit perfectly, and the door clicked unlocked.  
With that familiar unease only getting stronger, Jon opened the door and stepped through.


	2. the green area

The area that lay before Jon now was painted a dull green. It was one of those colors that could make someone sick to look at, like the whole room radiated an air of disease. Immediately in front of him was a small post with a single sign on it. Jon warily took a few steps closer to read it, frowning at the message.  
“Beware the edges”  
Glancing to the side of the sign, Jon could see that in front of him was just a short hallway. There was another path to the right, though, and considering the sign… well, maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea to go forward just yet. Jon turned and started heading down the other pathway.  
This particular hallway was filled with paintings of bugs, all set on white backgrounds, mounted on a grey matte, and surrounded by a light blue frame. The first was of a ladybug, the next of a bee, then a butterfly, and finally a spider. Jon’s breathing caught as he saw the last one. He’d never liked spiders very much.  
Suddenly, out of the corner of his vision, he spotted a black dot on the ground. He leaned down to look at it closer, his chest seizing in fear as he caught sight of tiny legs, bringing to mind the image of that final painting. He stared at it for a moment, then let out a shaky breath as he realized that it wasn’t a spider, just a fairly large ant. He smiled softly in relief.  
“You’re not gonna hurt me, are you?”  
“nope. i’m just an ant.”  
He definitely didn’t fall backwards and let out a sharp yelp of surprise at the insect’s response. Definitely not.  
He didn’t quite know what to say, so he settled for gasping out, “You can- you can talk?” He laughed weakly to himself, then, shaking his head and sitting up, his arms wrapped around his knees. “No, of course you can. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing that’s happened to me today.”  
The ant seemed to regard him for a moment, almost like it was judging him, then scuttled a few feet away. Without even thinking, Jon found himself calling after it.  
“Wait!”  
The ant hesitated, then turned back.  
“Do you… know how to get out of here?”  
The ant shook its tiny head. “nah. i like to stay in here and look at the paintings. my painting’s in here, too. i love paintings. mine is especially cool.” It stopped and thought for a moment before continuing. “i’d like to see it again, but it’s kind of far away…”  
Jon paused for a second, considering. “Can you show me where your painting is?” he finally asked.  
“sure. it’s just over there.” The insect scurried over to the hallway facing directly forward from the blue door, and Jon followed. “i don’t like going through there, though. they grab at me.”  
Suddenly afraid, Jon nervously glanced at the hallway, then back at the ant. “Who does?”  
The ant shook its head again and sighed. “if you find it, can you bring it back here for me? i wanna see it.” Seemingly done talking, it hurried off back to the hallway on the right.  
Jon watched it go, then looked back at the hallway that now seemed to loom in front of him. He sighed, suddenly and ridiculously finding himself almost missing the ant’s company, and stepped into the corridor. For one moment, nothing happened, and Jon laughed in relief, taking one more step into the shadowy green hallway.  
Then the claw came.  
The pain didn’t sink in immediately, and for a moment Jon heard rather than felt the rush of air as something scratched at his arm. Then it did, and Jon yelled, staggering to the left as blood began to drip from the gashes. They weren’t deep, but somehow they still burned as though the thing that had done it was either boiling hot or covered in poison. Jon winced as he pressed his left hand to the wounds in a vague attempt to apply pressure, then nearly stopped breathing as he glanced over at where the attack had come from.  
There, outstretched from the wall, was a long black hand, extending from the wall like it was part of it. Looking at it, Jon felt somewhat faint, and with a sudden sense of dread he remembered the message from the blue room.  
“When the rose rots, so too will you rot away.”  
With a shaking hand (that was also now somewhat covered in blood), he reached into his pocket and retrieved the dark blue rose he had taken earlier. Sure enough, it was now missing one more petal, making a total of three lost. He dug around in his pocket some more and pulled out the fallen petal, staring at it. Only four petals remained now.  
Numbly he replaced the rose in his pocket, stood up, and kept walking, making sure to stay in the very center of the corridor. He flinched every time another hand emerged to grab at him, hissing as his arm flared up in pain every time he did. He was careful, though- it seemed as long as he stayed in the middle they couldn’t extend far enough to reach him.  
When he finally reached the end, he collapsed to his knees, then startled hard again as one final hand grabbed at him from the wall in front. He took a moment to catch his breath, then staggered upright and turned the corner.  
At the end of this hallway was a painting and a door. Relief washed over Jon as he all but ran to it, reaching out with his uninjured arm to turn the knob.  
It was locked.  
Of course.  
His hope vanished with a feeling like someone had just splashed cold water on him. Still, at least he could make the ant happy, he supposed. He walked over and looked at the painting. Sure enough, it was literally just a painting of an ant, with the exact same features as the other insect paintings in the previous hallway (other than the actual insect that this particular painting starred). Nothing really special about it, other than the fact that it was remarkably detailed. Jon reached up and pushed the painting to the side, revealing that it could easily be moved or be taken off the wall. He grabbed it and headed back the direction he had come.  
The walk back was somewhat easier this time, seeing as none of the hands had retreated back into the wall, so he could just avoid them. It didn’t make the experience any less horrifying, though.  
Returning to the original right hallway, Jon knelt down in front of the ant and held out the painting. The insect ran around in a few circles, seemingly trying to show its happiness.  
“hey look. that’s my painting. it’s just as cool as i remember it.” It looked up at Jon with its beady black eyes. “thanks. you’re nice. i like you.” Jon smiled at the ant before leaving its painting standing up against the wall and continuing down the hallway.  
As he walked further down the corridor, four more paintings stood out against the green wall. These were all set against a similar white background, but instead were mounted against a black matte and surrounded by a brown frame. The first depicted a yellow butterfly egg with its shadow cast on the left, labeled simply “Prologue”. The next was of a green caterpillar crawling away from its egg, and appeared to be titled “Chapter 1”. “Chapter 2” featured a butterfly’s cocoon, and “Last Chapter” showed a beautiful, full-grown, yellow butterfly and its shadow. Jon smiled. These paintings weren’t so bad- they were actually somewhat pretty.  
At the end of the hallway was a green door. Jon reached for it, prepared for the worst, and was pleasantly surprised when it opened. However, he wasn’t as pleasantly surprised when he saw the hole that rendered the next hallway impossible to pass through. Looking down it, he couldn’t see a bottom, and decided it might be best to not try and find out how deep it was. Instead, he turned back and sat down against the wall next to “Last Chapter”. He felt like crying- he had come all this way for nothing, and it was likely that he would never get out of here. He’d never see any of his co-workers again, but other than that, it wasn’t like there was really anyone else who’d miss him, he guessed. Still, he was sure he didn’t want to die here, but it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice. He stared at the ground for a few minutes, until he heard a familiar voice.  
“hey.”  
The ant scurried up to- sit? stand?- by his right. “you want to get out, right?”  
Jon nodded.  
“and there’s a hole through there, right?”  
He nodded again. The ant sighed dramatically, like it was about to make a huge sacrifice.  
“you can use my painting. to cross over.”  
Jon blinked, startled by the sudden idea. “Really? But I thought you loved that painting…?”  
“i do. but. i can tell when someone needs my help. and i think this might be the only way to help you. so.”  
Jon got to his feet, still looking down at the ant. “If you’re sure, then alright. Thank you.” It sounded a little awkward, but he didn’t know what else to say when someone made this big of a decision for him. He walked back over and picked up the painting, glancing downwards and seeing the ant stare at it forlornly. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he decided not to say anything, simply going back to the green door at the end of the hallway and opening it again. He carefully laid the painting over the hole (somehow it fit perfectly), and lightly tested his weight on it. It seemed to hold just fine, so he slowly made his way across, then looked back.  
He gasped slightly, looking at the painting. It was almost as if it had been alive and he had walked over an actual ant, seeing as bits and pieces of it were now crushed and floated among splashes of red paint. He stared at it for a moment before muttering “I’m so sorry” and continuing onwards.  
The hallway itself was fairly short, and he reached the next door in no time. This one also opened easily, to his relief, and he stepped through into the next room.  
Immediately his gaze landed on the painting, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, feeling suddenly ill (he quickly regretted that move as the pain in his arm spiked, and he gingerly lowered his hand again). The painting, titled “Epilogue”, had the same background, matte, and frame as the others in the cycle, and depicted the mutilated corpse of the yellow butterfly as a huge black spider tore it apart. It was far too detailed for Jon’s liking, and he took a few steps back before his eyes fell on the green glimmer on the ground.  
Of course the key was right next to the painting.  
Then, suddenly, Jon realized the painting wasn’t the only disturbing thing in the room. There, in front of the key, was a headless black mannequin clothed in a simple red dress and heels. The whole room freaked Jon out, but he wasn’t going to back down now. He inched forward and grabbed the key.  
The moment his hand closed around it, the mannequin moved. Jon blinked, unwilling to believe that he had seen what he thought he just did, until it stepped forward again, not stopping this time.  
Jon ran. He transferred the key to his injured hand, not caring about the pain as he fumbled desperately with the door knob, his mind too clouded by panic to think straight. Finally he managed to get it open just as the mannequin grabbed at the back of his sweater, running down the hallway and across the painting, which ripped in two just as he collapsed onto the other side. Terrified, he scooted backwards a few times, the mannequin advancing ominously before rather anti-climactically falling through the newly made hole in the ant painting. Its fall was accompanied by a piercingly loud noise of shattering glass, and Jon resisted the urge to cover his ears. He shakily got to his feet and exited the hallway, crouching down in front of the ant again.  
He cleared his throat briefly before speaking. “I’m sorry about your painting… The- the, ah, mannequin… it…”  
“that’s okay.” The ant bobbed its head slightly. “i thought this might happen. at least i got to see it one more time though.” It paused for a moment. “i hope you find a way out. i’m rooting for you, okay?”  
Jon smiled and nodded, feeling the sudden urge to cry again for some reason. He stood, taking the green key back in his other hand, but not before waving one last time at the ant. It was hard to tell, but he thought it might have lifted one of its legs and waved back, too.  
Braving the hallway with the black claws again, he carefully put the key in the green door’s lock and turned it, making a clicking noise as it unlocked. He dropped the green key to the side, took a deep breath, and opened the door, leaving behind the only company he might ever have in this place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl the ant is one of my favorite characters in the whole game. so i gave it a bit more of a personality, because i love it.  
> also this is one of the shortest chapters in the whole thing!! it only gets longer from here.  
> so much longer.


	3. the yellow area

When Jon opened the green door to the next area, he was instantly met with two large, painted eyes staring directly at him. He blinked, and they blinked back. It was then that he noticed the two cat ears sticking up to form a wall that was somehow shaped like a cat’s face. Taking a look around, he noticed that the walls and floor of this area were colored a sickly yellow, and that there were two pathways- one to the left and one to the right. He stared back up at the cat’s eyes again, and even though it didn’t appear to have a mouth, he could have sworn that he heard it meow. He smiled despite himself, wishing he could pet it. There was no malice radiating from it- it just seemed curious.  
Stepping closer, he could see that where its mouth should have been, there was a small hole shaped like a fish. He frowned, and the cat mewed at him again. He shrugged, debated with himself over which way to go first, and finally decided to turn right.  
To the right was a room labelled by a sign that read “Materials Storehouse”. Inside was a collection of headless statues, mannequins, cardboard boxes, stools, and large statues of heads. From the hallway where Jon was standing, five head statues stood in a row to his left, and a few boxes were cluttered to the right. He could see a vase standing on a table in the distance, and a painting on a wall that was partially blocked from his vision by a stack of boxes. There was a crack in the floor just in front of the final head statue in the row, but it wasn’t so big as to be impassable like the hole from earlier.  
Jon grimaced- his earlier encounter with the headless mannequin had put him off with any similar sculptures- and quickly turned to leave. The door closed behind him, and he speed-walked in the other direction, towards the hallway on the left (which was now, of course, directly in front of him).  
This hallway led to a room that was a little bit more interesting. In here, Jon was immediately greeted by eight posts, seven of which featured red curtains hiding what he assumed were more paintings, while the one closest to him simply displayed a black stick figure that wasn’t even a painting- it just looked like it had been sloppily drawn onto the post. He cautiously took a few more steps into the room, aiming to lift the first of the red curtains, but as he walked past the stick figure yellow paint began to leak from the post, forming a message:  
“Play hide and seek?”  
Jon didn’t get a chance to answer before the stick figure disappeared, yellow buttons appearing beneath each red curtain and a strange sound that might have been laughter emanating from all directions. He sighed and looked around warily before deciding that he might as well just play the painting’s game, walking towards the next post and pressing the button underneath it. The red curtains swung to either side to reveal a painting of a yellow crescent moon set against a navy blue background and surrounded by a green frame. As soon as Jon looked at it, the lights in the room dimmed, and he looked up for a moment, startled, before shaking his head and moving to the next one.  
The curtains swung aside on the next painting to reveal a painting of a diagonal red slash mark set against a black background with a grey frame. Jon just had time to observe that it almost looked like blood before a slicing pain hit him, causing him to cry out in sudden agony. When he looked down, there was no injury, as if nothing had happened, but sure enough, when he took the rose out of his pocket yet another petal was gone. Three left. Three more injuries and he would be…  
He didn’t want to think about that. He pocketed the rose again and moved on.  
Jon hesitated a moment before pressing the button below the next painting, still thinking about what had happened with the slash. Finally coming to the conclusion that he probably didn’t have a choice, he pressed it before he could think twice.  
The painting that lay beneath was set against a grey background and surrounded by a purple frame, and somehow, despite every implausibility, seemed to show…  
Jon’s breath caught as he stared directly at the portrait’s subject. The person was hanging upside down, multiple blue claws reaching for him, and the longer he looked at it the more sure he was that it was him. A portrait of himself, facing certain death, in a gallery of art made by a man who had lived hundreds of years ago…  
Unable to take his eyes off of the painting, Jon slowly moved to the right, until finally he managed to tear himself away from it and quickly head for the second row of posts, ending up in front of the second one to the left. There had to be a way out. There had to be…  
Jon ducked his head down as he pressed the button on the post- he didn’t want to look at the painting beneath until he was sure it was safe. If he looked up, he could just barely see the edge of a blue frame and white background. The brighter colors reassured him just the tiniest bit, and at last he dared to look up.  
It was a painting of the stick figure, who now had red eyes that stared directly at Jon, but without a mouth he couldn’t tell whether it was happy or angry. Jon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, relief washing over him.  
Yellow paint leaked from the wall again to the side of the painting, and he leaned closer to read the message.  
“Found me, you get prize.”  
A clattering noise sounded from somewhere in the front of the room, and Jon jumped. He quickly walked towards it, not bothering to look at any of the other hidden paintings.  
The painting in the very front of the room was titled “A Chef’s Talent”, and showed a large knife chopping off a fish’s tail. It was set against a white background, mounted against a black matte, and surrounded by a green frame. Jon didn’t need to wonder where the rest of the fish was- there, on the ground in front of the painting, was the fish’s blue head.  
He picked it up, relieved to feel that it was just made of wood, and turned it over to see a small wooden pole sticking out of it, as though it could connect to something else. On a sudden thought, Jon walked back out of the room towards the original wall shaped like a cat, and placed just the head in the hole shaped like a fish. It fit perfectly.  
So, this was the key then. If he could only find the other half.  
Jon looked back at the Materials Storehouse door uneasily. It was the only way left to go, though, so he steeled himself and opened the door one more time.  
Inside, nothing had changed. This didn’t make Jon any less uneasy, but at least nothing was attacking him. He started walking, straight forward through the row of the five head statues. He was just making his way over the crack in the floor when the lights flickered and went out. With dread pooling in his stomach and feeling suddenly like he was being watched, Jon slowly turned around. The final head statue’s eyes glowed red as they stared directly at Jon. He took a few steps back, still making eye contact with the thing, and there was a loud scraping noise as the statue moved out of line towards him.  
Jon panicked, running backwards and nearly tripping over one of the many boxes that lay on the floor. In the end, though, there was no need to worry. As the statue advanced, it eventually came to almost the exact same fate the headless mannequin had in the Green Area, and tripped over the crack in the floor. Jon had to duck out of the way to avoid one of the flying shards of dried clay, and then fought the hysteric urge to laugh at how easy it had been. There, in the ruined mess of what had once been the statue, lay a wooden blue fish tail. Jon carefully picked it up, glancing left and right to make sure no other statues were going to come alive and attack, before pocketing the fish tail. He was just about to leave when he remembered the vase standing on the table, and on a sudden thought he walked back over to check if it had water. Upon seeing that it did, he took the rose out of his pocket, glanced between the two objects for a moment, and dipped the rose inside.  
Instantly he felt better, as pains he didn’t even recall having slipped away. He stared at his arm in wonder as the cuts from the claw (the pain from which had already begun to wind down into a more of a dull, pulsing ache) vanished without a trace. He retrieved the rose and counted the petals- all seven were there now. Looking inside the vase, however, it seemed that the water had evaporated. Finally beginning to understand how the system worked, Jon put the rose back in his pocket and left the room.  
Shutting the door behind him, Jon struggled for a moment to fit the fish head and tail together for a second before they clicked. He walked up to the cat wall, and it meowed once again, this time staring at the fish almost hungrily.  
He fit the fish key into the wall, and the cat’s eyes shrank to red slits as a chorus of meows rang out and the wall slid back in two directions to form a long hallway. Jon shook off the desire to pet the cat, but he did smile and wave at it as he walked through. He might have been mistaken, but he thought he heard it purring.  
Through the hallway Jon had expected a different-colored area, but the Yellow Area just seemed to keep going. In its next section, there were three pathways- one forward, one left, and one right. Remembering that going right had led to the Materials Storehouse last time, Jon made the wise decision to turn left, down a much shorter hallway.  
This hallway only had two paintings- one that seemed to just be completely white, and the other one-  
Jon stopped just before the first painting. It was set against a black background, mounted against a red matte, and surrounded by a yellow frame, and appeared to be a sloppy red doodle of a face, with two eyes and a mouth with its tongue hanging out. What was odd, though, was that the tongue was… wiggling…  
Jon moved as close as he could to the opposite wall on instinct, and started to move past it, when it spat at him. Jon stared at it, incredulous, but it only spat at him again. Deciding that he probably shouldn’t touch the water that came from its mouth, he kept walking. It seemed that if he stayed pressed up against the opposite wall, the painting just barely couldn’t reach him.  
The other painting was, like he had thought, completely white, and was surrounded by a brown frame, but if Jon looked closer he could just make out the faint red outline of a number- 9.  
Jon frowned, committing the number to memory before walking back the way he had come.  
The hallway to the front looked fairly long, and it seemed to split off into two more pathways at the end, so Jon decided to go right next.  
In the right hallway was a small message written in yellow paint:  
“BEWARE OF LIPS”  
Jon glanced to either side, then cautiously kept walking. Just as the message had warned, at the end of the hallway was a literal pair of red lips. They didn’t seem to be painted on; they simply emerged from the wall like they belonged there. They moved like they wanted to say something, but if they did, Jon didn’t hear it. He carefully took one step closer, then another, until finally the lips deemed him close enough to speak.  
“Hungry… Give food…”  
Jon yelped in surprise as they bit at him. One petal gone. He lept back, holding up his hands as if in surrender.  
“Wait! I’ll- I’ll get you food!”  
The lips said nothing more.  
Jon backed away, then ran back down the hallway. The only way left now was forward.  
On the ground in front of the final hallway was a small scrap of paper. Jon picked it up, turning it over to look at it.  
“Just when you’ve forgotten…” it read. The message made Jon uneasy, but forward was the only way to go, so he put down the paper and continued on.  
The hallway was fine for a good three seconds before another claw emerged from the wall and grabbed at Jon. He yelled and almost fell backwards, but the hand only snatched at empty air uselessly. His heart racing, Jon took to the center of the hallway once again and slowly kept walking.  
He needn’t have done anything, though, as no more hands emerged for the rest of the hall. Seeing that the pathway to the left simply led to a door, whereas the other pathway was filled with dolls hanging upside down by red strings, Jon didn’t hesitate to go to the door. Another message was painted just beside it in yellow liquid:  
“The Liars’ Room”  
Jon hesitated for a moment, debating the pros and cons of the supposed liars versus the creepy dolls that hung from the ceiling of the other pathway, before shaking his head and opening the door.  
Inside were six paintings, all of different people that Jon didn’t recognize. The first wore a green shirt, and had a message beneath that read, “Stand in front of the statue, go west 3 steps, then south 1 step. That’s the answer!” The next wore a brown dress, with a label reading, “Stand in front of the statue, go east 4 steps, then north 2 steps. That’s the answer!” After reading just these first two messages, Jon suddenly realized that this was a puzzle.  
_This is good. You can work with puzzles._  
The next wore a yellow shirt, with a message saying, “The one in white speaks the truth!” In between this painting and the next was a yellow door. For now, though, Jon ignored it and moved on to read the other painting’s messages.  
Blue tank top. Message that read, “The only truth-speaker wears green!”  
White dress. “Stand in front of the statue, go east 2 steps, then south 2 steps. That’s the answer!”  
Red dress. “I agree with the one in yellow!”  
Jon frowned. If the people in the paintings were all supposed to be liars, then agreeing with each other was a bad sign, which discredited…  
Feeling a slight sense of pride at having solved it, Jon walked back to the painting of the girl with a brown dress and re-read it, then opened the yellow door in the room.  
The room inside was covered in square tiles, and in the center a large statue stood. Following the painting’s directions, Jon walked up to stand in front of the statue, and had to resist the urge to step back when the statue spoke.  
“There’s an odd one out…”  
Jon frowned again. Probably just talking about the liars. He continued to follow the directions, and sure enough, the last tile he stepped on wobbled slightly. He reached down and picked it up, flipping it over to reveal a number painted on its back in blue: 4.  
It was almost as if the person who had designed this place had made it some sort of sick game, but if playing it was what it took to get out, then Jon would play it.  
He made sure to walk back the way he had come, not wanting to know what would happen if he stepped on the wrong tiles, and gasped as he re-entered “The Liars’ Room”.  
The girl in the brown dress had been viciously ripped apart, and blood covered her entire painting and a large section of the wall. All of the other paintings were frozen mid-laughter, carrying various bloodied weapons. Their messages, except for the newly dead girl’s, all simply read, “Liar!”  
Jon felt sick looking at the scene, and he hurried to leave. Even the creepy doll hallway would be better than this.  
The dolls wore a mix of blue or red tops, and some dangled close enough to touch. Jon carefully skirted around them, heading to a yellow door at the end of the hall.  
It was locked- of course- but had a small message written on it, and a numbered keypad as if to enter in a code. The message read:  
“X x X + X = ?”  
So this was the puzzle- and Jon only needed to find one more number. He was just turning to walk back down the hallway to see if he’d missed anything when a doll fell from its string just in front of him. He stepped back in surprise, but it made no further movements, and so he cautiously crouched down to look at it. There was a number written in green on its red top: 18.  
Jon sighed in relief. This puzzle was actually pretty easy. He walked back to the door, did the math in his head, and entered the code: 18 x 9 + 4 = 166.  
The door creaked open.  
Inside were a collection of beautifully painted sculptures of trees, the one in the middle featuring a single red apple. In the back of the room was a painting of the branches of a tree with one apple hanging off one of the branches. It was done in such a way that the largest branch merged with the painting’s brown frame the same way it might merge with the tree trunk. The painting had a dark blue background and a black inner frame. Jon stepped forward, plucking the apple from the tree, and when nothing bad happened, he left the room. The apple weighed heavily in his hands, and its texture definitely felt more wooden than actual fruit. Still, all he could do was hope the Lips would accept it.  
As he walked back down the hallway where the claw had attacked him before, taking care to stay in the middle, he flinched as a new claw emerged to swipe at him, but once again it missed. He walked down the path a little more quickly after that.  
Finally returning to where the Lips were, he approached slowly and held up the apple as if it were a peace offering.  
“Hungry… Give food…”  
At this repetition Jon’s hopes sank, thinking it might not accept it after all, but in a moment it started talking again.  
“That food… Give to me…”  
Jon carefully placed the apple in between the Lips, snatching his hand back quickly so as not to be bitten. The Lips ate it with a strange crunching noise, seeing as it was only wood, but they seemed satisfied.  
“This tasty… I let you pass now… Go through my mouth…”  
Jon hesitated as the Lips opened wide, wishing desperately there was any other way to go. No time for indecision, though. He took a deep breath and stepped through.

He opened his eyes in yet another yellow hallway. Directly in front of him was a large painting of a guillotine, and he could see that there were more, similar paintings in a line down the corridor. Each image was set against a purple background, mounted against a black matte, and surrounded by a silver frame. The blade of the guillotine was silver and sharp, connected to the rest of the weapon by a red string, while the entire contraption sat on a brown wooden floor.  
He shuddered- something about these paintings filled him with dread. As he walked down the hallway, the paintings showed the blade steadily rising higher and higher, until in the last one, it wasn’t visible anymore. Jon was just about to walk past it when he heard a creaking noise from above, looked up, and just barely managed to jump backwards and out of the way before a real guillotine smashed to the ground where he had just been standing. His legs felt weak, and his heart was pounding. If he had been under that, he would have died. Not just one rose petal lost, but all of them, all at once. It would have been instant.  
Jon watched as the guillotine lifted back up to the ceiling, suddenly dizzy again. How did he know it wouldn’t just collapse and crush him for real as he walked under it now? Still, it was the only way to go. He took a moment to catch his breath, noting that if he turned right just past the guillotine, there was a set of stairs. Taking one final deep breath, he ran, dashing under the guillotine and to the right, down the stairs. As he looked back up, though, he quickly realized that it hadn’t fallen again. He was safe, at least for now.  
He let out a shaky breath and continued forward, towards a single yellow door. Testing the knob, he found that, to his relief, it turned easily. He opened the door and stepped through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ok i'm so sorry. the x's in the puzzle are colored. that's how you,, that's how you can tell which number goes where,, i'm sorry ao3 doesn't work like that i'm sorry just go with it ok it's fine


	4. the red area

The walls and floor of the next area were painted a dull red. Not quite the color of fresh blood- more like long-since dried. Still, it was unsettling. A long hallway stretched out in front of Jon before seeming to turn left at its end. There were no paintings on any walls as far as he could see. He began to walk the length of the corridor, but stopped short as he saw a familiar figure wearing a red dress disappear down to the left. With a sudden shock, he realized that given the direction of the staircases, this red area would be directly below the Green Area, which meant that the shadow might have very well been the same mannequin that had fallen…  
Jon hesitantly approached the turn and glanced down it, but of course nothing was there now. He kept walking, his gaze focused on the hallway’s next left turn in case it came back and attacked. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he could see another painting, this one much larger and slightly more chaotic than any of the others.  
It showed a white bird (a dove, maybe?) blowing into something that looked like a trumpet, with a small pink breath cloud emerging from the mouth of the instrument. The animal and the trumpet seemed to be in a grassy field, with a large pink cloud either directly above the bird or in the distance. In the background of the painting were a few more white birds, some raindrops in the top-right of the image, and a stream of water. The image was surrounded by a light grey frame. He could just see its title: “Breath”. Continuing down the hallway, he noticed a small, separate corridor breaking off to the left. Curious, he followed it, only to find that it led to an even smaller room with a single painting in it. It was labeled “Soul-Sapping Throng”, and followed the same theme of being more chaotic than the last paintings.  
It depicted a crowd of black silhouettes with glowing red eyes clustered around a large grey tree, its blue leaves fluttering in the wind. As the figures surrounded the tree, they seemed to be drawing something from it- its soul, Jon guessed, based on the painting’s name. It was set against a lavender background, mounted against a black matte, and surrounded by a purple frame. There was something vaguely disturbing about it, and after looking at it for a few moments, Jon left and continued back down the original hallway.  
At the hallway’s end was a bright red door. This color, Jon noticed, could actually safely be called the color of blood. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, though. He turned the knob and the door opened easily.  
The door came out on the left side of a rather large room. Immediately to Jon’s front was a large blue sculpture of a woman. Her eyes and mouth were both closed, and her arms were held to her chest as if she were cradling something. Her long hair seemed to merge with her dress, which had so many folds in it that it gave the effect of having ripples or dripping. Its label merely read, “Uh”. It was beautiful, in a strange way.  
As he walked up to the front of the room, he noticed that the walls jutted out more and more as they reached the center of the room, so that the northwest and northeast sides of the room were pushed further back than the center wall. Taking a moment to look closer at the left side first, he could see two paintings, the first of which showed a straight horizontal green line across a black background, surrounded by a silver frame. Its caption read “Heartbeat”, and as Jon looked at it, he thought he saw the line spike for a moment as a heartbeat sounded somewhere in the distance. The second was a portrait of a man wearing a purple suit and top hat, with brown pants and shoes. Its title, “Smoking Gentleman”, was apt: the figure held a lit cigarette in his right hand as grey smoke curled from it. The image had a black background and a pink frame.  
Looking at them, Jon almost laughed at the sheer amount of art- at least there were so many paintings in here that he was certainly getting what he (or really, he guessed, Tim) paid for. Walking back around “Uh” and towards the other side of the room, he could see a smaller wall rising from the very middle of the room with another painting on it. It was called “Peacock Pattern”, and showed a collection of blue, green, and red peacock feathers. The image was set against a white background, surrounded by a black inner frame and a yellow outer frame with light grey corners.  
On the right side of the room was another sculpture, an exact mirror image of “Uh” besides the facts that it was a bright red and that the woman had her mouth open as if she were screaming. Its label read “Ah”.  
Finally, two more paintings hung on the walls here. The first, titled “Heart Wounds”, was an image of a dark blue heart inside of a light blue, rounded square. An arrow punctured the right side of the heart, the paint oozing down to the bottom where it did so. It was set against a black background, surrounded by a silver frame. However, the interesting part of this painting was that the arrow was real, and appeared to be firmly driven into the canvas.  
The last painting was a simple torso-up portrait of a woman with long brown hair and red eyes wearing a red dress. Jon vaguely remembered seeing it somewhere in the original gallery, he thought, but somehow here it radiated an air of malice and anger. Its caption was “The Lady in Red”. Jon frowned and started to walk away, but whipped around again at a clattering noise from behind him.  
The Lady in Red had fallen off of the wall and was now leaning out of her frame, her hands scrabbling at the floor as she crawled towards Jon faster than he would have ever believed possible. He stood frozen in terror for one horrifying moment before turning and running. In the center of the room he could see another red door, and he desperately made his way towards it, before turning the knob and finding that it was locked. In a panic, he circled around the smaller wall with “Peacock Pattern” on it, searching for a key, and had a brief moment of relief as he caught sight of a small red glimmer on the floor where The Lady in Red had once been. Looking back to check how far she was from him, he ran to the key and picked it up before circling back around to the door, The Lady in Red constantly just a few steps behind him. He jammed the key into the lock and turned it multiple times before finally getting it to open, slamming the door shut behind him just as the painting grabbed for him. He fell backwards onto the ground, paralyzed with fear as she banged on the door several times before the sound disappeared.  
He let out a sigh of relief. She was gone, and she (probably) couldn’t get in here. Slowly he got to his feet and started looking around the new room.  
This place appeared to be some sort of library, as four shelves of books emerged from the walls. He ignored them for a moment and tried the door at the opposite end of the room, unsurprised to find out that it, too, was locked. He tried the red key he had on him, but it didn’t fit quite right, and he resigned himself to searching through the books for answers. Starting with the first shelf on the right, he soon found that almost every book was either empty or filled with various doodles. In between two such books, he noticed a scrap of paper and hopefully pulled it out to look at it. It read, “H A V I N G F U N ?” Jon shuddered and dropped it.  
On the first shelf to the left, one book caught Jon’s eye. It was titled “The Girls in the Canvas”, and as Jon flipped through it, one paragraph stood out.  
“The women here become very troublesome when they acquire a desire for humans. They’ll always stubbornly chase things until they’re satisfied, it seems… Anywhere, everywhere, to the ends of the earth… But if they have one weakness, it’s that they can’t open doors on their own.”  
Relief washed over Jon. So it was true that The Lady in Red couldn’t get in this room. Still, though, as he put the book back he found himself wondering who had written it, and if they had managed to find a way out.  
The books in the upper-right shelf were more of the same: empty or doodles, except for one book titled “Art Galleries of the World”, which, true to its name, appeared to just be filled with pictures of art galleries.  
Finally Jon started opening the books on the last shelf. Almost immediately one seemed different from the others. Its cover was crudely drawn in crayon, and merely said the words:  
“Moving Storybook Written/Drawn by XXXX”  
-Carrie Careless and the Galette des Rois-”  
Intrigued (and still slightly uneasy), Jon turned the page.  
The book featured a girl with pink hair throwing a birthday party for her friend, a girl with blue hair. For the party, the girl in pink had baked a galette des rois, a special kind of pie that had a coin in it. She claimed that if her friend ate the slice with the coin, she’d “be a happy person”. It seemed to be a wholesome story, as the party went on and the friend accidentally “swallowed something hard”. The pink girl laughed, and, revealing that her friend was the Carrie mentioned in the book’s name, told her that it was fine, that the coin was small. However, as she walked back to the kitchen to clean up the remains of the pie, she found her mother standing in front of the door. She asked her if she had seen the key to the study, to which the girl responded that it was always on a certain table. When she looked at the table, though, she found the coin that should have been in the pie there instead. As her mother walked away, the girl questioned what she should do, only to scare herself as the knife that rested on the plate in her hand slipped and crashed onto the floor. She looked at it, then back at her friend. The next scene only had a single line: “Looks like I was just as careless as Carrie…” The final scene showed the girl triumphantly holding a bloody key, her shirt spattered with red. Words written in crayon on the top read, “I found the keeey! I’ll open the door now!”  
Jon dropped the book in horror, feeling like he might be sick. He swallowed, gingerly picking it back up and sliding it back into its place on the shelf. As he did, a clicking sound came from the door. Still feeling somewhat queasy, he walked over to the door and tested the knob. This time, it opened, and he stepped through into the next room.  
The next section of the Red Area split off into two more hallways, one to the left and one to the right. In front of Jon was a painting and a small table with a light blue vase on it. The painting was of the same vase that was on the table, with a water droplet frozen in the motion of falling into it. It was set against a blue background, mounted against a black matte, and surrounded by a darker blue frame. Its label read, “Eternal Blessing”.  
Remembering the vase from the Yellow Area, Jon wasted no time dipping his rose into the vase’s water, regaining the single petal he had lost. However, this time the water didn’t vanish, and the vase stayed full.  
Stepping back from the vase, Jon glanced between the two hallways. He started to go to the left, but as he did, a sense of dread began to pool in his stomach. Without questioning it he turned and walked back in the other direction.  
To the right Jon could see another painting on the wall, but he didn’t bother checking it, his focus snapping to the floor in front of him. A person lay face-down there- a real, honest-to-god person, groaning in pain. Jon ran to them and knelt beside them.  
“Are you okay?!”  
Normally he might not have sounded so panicked, but he had been alone for probably hours now, and he was not going to lose any human company he found.  
“It… hurts…” the person choked out, sounding close to tears.  
Frantic, Jon put a hand on their shoulder and began to turn them over, but let go as the person winced and tried to mumble something akin to “stop” before breaking off into a coughing fit. Looking closer at them, he could see that they were clutching tightly to a small grey key, and Jon gently took it from their hand.  
“Sorry, sorry…”  
He stood back up, trying to work out how he could possibly help them, when he noticed two pink rose petals scattered on the floor a short ways back the direction he had come. Immediately it clicked, and he didn’t hesitate in running towards the other hallway, opening the door at the end of it.  
In the room that the left hallway’s door led to, there was a small raised area immediately to the right with a vase in it. Two messages hung to either side of it:  
“When the rose rots, so too will you rot away.”  
“You and the rose are unified. You must know the weight of life.”  
The vase had no water in it.  
Jon grimaced, but had no time to dwell on any deeper meanings. A door stood in the middle of the room’s front wall, accompanied by a window to the left. In the distance, Jon could see an empty painting frame hanging on the wall and three more pink rose petals lying on the ground, as well as a few splatters of blood. The color drained from his face. There wasn’t much time left.  
Looking through the window, Jon could see a painting similar to The Lady in Red gleefully plucking the remaining petals off of a small pink rose. Without even taking the time to think of a plan, Jon fit the small key into the door’s lock and flung it open. There was a sculpture in there, but he didn’t get the chance to see it before the lady, who was dressed all in blue, snapped her head up to stare at him. Grinning wildly at the prospect of something new to chase, she began to drag herself towards him, dropping the pink rose along the way. Jon circled the room similar to the way he had when The Lady in Red had been chasing him, lunging for the fallen rose. As he picked it up, he just had time to register that only one petal remained before the lady dressed in blue caught up to him and clawed at him, resulting in the same burning sensation that the claw from so long ago had left behind. Jon cried out in sudden agony, nearly tripping over himself to get to the door.  
He slammed it shut behind him and leaned against it for a moment, trying to catch his breath, before something banged on the window.  
Of course. The book hadn’t said anything about glass stopping them.  
Jon managed to run to the exit just in time and close that door behind him, hearing the sound of the window shattering in the distance and not bothering to look back. Once again, he took a moment to catch his breath, his leg still burning, before stumbling over to the bright blue vase and dipping the stranger’s rose in, then his own. The pain in his leg subsided, and he took a moment to stare at the stranger’s rose.  
It was a pastel, somewhat faded pink, the same color as their hair, he remembered. It was beautiful, with all eight of its petals intact now. Pocketing his own rose, he kept the pink one held in his hand where the stranger would be able to see it and began to walk back towards them.  
When he entered the hallway, the person was still laying on the floor, but at least they weren’t obviously in pain anymore. Jon approached and crouched down in front of them, holding the rose out in front of him.  
“Are you alright?”  
The person made a soft noise, then began to push themself to a sitting position, readjusting their glasses as they did so. They appeared not to have heard Jon, as panic suddenly clouded their eyes and they frantically glanced left and right before seeing Jon and quickly dragging themself a few paces backwards.  
“Wh-What do you want now?! I don’t have anything left, I swear! Please, please don’t hurt me…” The person drew their legs up to their chest and ducked their head, shaking and hyperventilating as they continued to mutter “please don’t hurt me”. Jon’s heart broke at the sight. Unsure if it would be alright to touch them, he settled for talking instead.  
“It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I’m not- I’m not one of them.”  
The stranger raised their head just the tiniest bit to look at Jon more carefully, then raised it all the way. “You- Wait- You were in the gallery earlier, weren’t you? How are you-?”  
Startled that the person recognized him, Jon took a moment to answer the question. “Oh- um, yes, I was. You were there, too?”  
They nodded.  
“What’s your name?”  
“Oh! Um, I’m Martin. Martin Blackwood.”  
“Jonathan Sims. But please, call me Jon.”  
Martin smiled shakily. “Alright then, Jon.” After a moment of silence, he laughed suddenly, and Jon looked up, alarmed. “It’s- it’s nothing… I’m just really glad there’s someone here besides me.” He blinked a few times, trying to force back more tears, before just taking his glasses off briefly and wiping at his eyes.  
Jon didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so there was a brief, tense moment of silence before Jon finally broke it. “Oh!” He held out the pink rose. “Here. This is yours, right?”  
Martin took it, nodding. “Yeah… Yeah, that… thing… she took it…”  
“Don’t lose it again.”  
Martin looked up at Jon, confused. “Huh?”  
Jon sighed. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but these roses… I think they’re kind of like our lifelines. If all the petals are gone, I think… I think we might die. See, I have one, too.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own rose.  
Martin opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking vaguely horrified. Finally he settled on, “…Oh god…”  
One last moment of silence, until Jon finally got to his feet, offering Martin a hand. Martin took it gratefully, and Jon pulled him up. Now that they were standing, the height difference between them was much more pronounced, and it was obvious that Martin had a good six inches or more on Jon.  
“Shall we?” Jon gestured towards the end of the hallway, and Martin nodded. The two of them began to walk side-by-side, until Jon suddenly grabbed onto Martin’s sleeve. “Wait.”  
Martin looked down, surprised, and Jon pointed at a painting hanging on the wall to their left. It was exactly the same as the painting that had spat at him earlier in the Yellow Area, wiggling tongue and all.  
“I don’t think it’d be a good idea to get too close.”  
“...Right.”  
With Jon leading, they stuck to the right wall as they walked past, the painting doing its best to get them but just barely missing. Martin flinched as the painting spat more directly at him, his grip tightening on his rose.  
At the end of the hallway was one last red door, with a headless mannequin standing in front so as to block it. It wasn’t wearing a dress, instead going for a single blue tie. Jon instinctively backed away upon seeing it, going slightly pale. Martin didn’t seem to notice, though, walking right on forward towards the door and, with some effort, pushing the statue out of the way. He was just looking back at Jon, intending to say that the way was clear, when he saw the look on his face.  
“Jon!” He rushed back to Jon’s side, unsure what to do. “What’s wrong? You’re not hurt, are you?”  
Jon shook his head. “No, no, it-it’s fine, it’s just- one of those m- things attacked me earlier, and-” He didn’t meet Martin’s gaze, keeping his eyes locked on the statue.  
“Oh, Jon…” Martin glanced at the mannequin, then back at Jon. “I don’t see it moving, so I think we’re okay. Here, stay next to me, ‘kay?”  
Jon didn’t respond, but he did cling to Martin’s side rather closely as Martin opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome the man himself!!!  
> i would say i'm sorry for describing every single painting in excruciating detail but i'm not so  
> (i am, i'm sorry, just skip over the descriptions if you want it's not important it's just my horrible brain being like do it. describe all of them. ALL)  
> also sorry if anyone's out of character? this is my first tma fic and like,, i love tma but like,,, am i a good writer? who knows


	5. the grey area: part one

The walls and floor of the room through the door were painted an ashy grey. Even so, it was better than the blood-red of the previous area. Inside, Jon and Martin were immediately greeted by two black hands protruding from the floor on either side, each with a small sign in front of it. Martin was the first to walk forward to read them: aptly named for the side of the room they were on, the first was titled “Left Hand”, and the other “Right Hand”. One might even have been able to appreciate the details on them, if they weren’t both flexing their fingers into unpleasant, claw-like shapes.  
“It’s alright, Jon. I think as long as we don’t touch them, we’ll be fine.”  
Jon nodded and cautiously stepped forward to examine two paintings hung on the front wall of the room. The one on the left, labeled “Grieving Bride”, showed a frowning woman wearing a white wedding gown and holding a bouquet of pink flowers. The other, “Grieving Groom”, depicted a frowning man with brown hair wearing a white tuxedo. Both images were set against a black background and surrounded by a yellow frame. Between the two paintings was a small hallway.  
“Martin?”  
Martin startled slightly, looking back up at Jon. Jon waved for him to follow, and the pair set off down the corridor.  
The next section of the Grey Area looked significantly bigger at a glance. The path split in three directions, the right of which simply led to a dead end with a single painting of coffee and cake in it. The left led to a grey door and another corridor, whereas the way forward branched off into yet more hallways.  
“We probably shouldn’t split up, so…?” Martin began, looking to Jon for a decision. Jon just looked at Martin like he was waiting for him to finish. “Um… left, maybe? There’s a door in that direction, but it probably just leads to another room, not a whole new area…”  
“Still, we should at least check it out. Might be something that we need inside.” At Martin’s look of confusion, Jon clarified: “This place…” he struggled for words for a moment, “...seems to be filled with puzzles. In order to open doors, you have to solve some riddle or other. I think it’d be best to check every room.”  
Martin’s expression wavered between surprise and worry. “Huh. Alright.” He gestured to the door. “Shall we?”  
Inside the room, the path immediately split off to the left and right, and Martin nearly collided with the sign that hung on the wall directly in front of them. Taking a step back, he read out loud, “Labyrinth.”  
Distantly, the sound of grating footsteps could be heard from corridors farther ahead. Jon froze, eyes widening in fear and recognition.  
“Martin, there are mannequins in here.”  
Martin’s brow creased with worry. “Here, take my hand.” He held it out for Jon, and Jon obliged. “In a maze, you should always stick to one side so that you don’t get lost,” the taller man explained, already setting off to the right. Jon followed behind, his face still slightly red at the feeling of Martin’s hand enclosed around his. “It’s a quick and easy way to get through these kinds of things, unless we run into one of those mannequins? If we do, though, we’ll just go back a little bit, it’ll be alright,” Martin added, seeing Jon’s look of panic.  
Together, the two of them navigated the labyrinth, occasionally slipping into a nearby corridor to get by a headless, red-dressed mannequin. Each time they did, Jon gripped Martin’s hand just a little bit tighter, and Martin gave Jon’s a soft squeeze. Fortunately, both of them managed to avoid losing any petals, and at last they came across a canvas with, “Check directly south from the red paint” scribbled on it in black paint.  
The message didn’t quite clear things up, as there were several splotches of red paint on the floor of the maze that the two of them had been careful to step over, not on. Still, after a little more exploring and hiding from statues, they found a wall with a small switch on it. Martin reached out to flip it, and the moment he did, a loud and slightly muffled scraping sound came from outside. The two glanced at each other, then started making their way back out to see what had changed. On the way, one last message stood out on the wall:  
“Do you like mazes?”  
Nothing had obviously changed outside, at least until they returned to the starting point of the room. From there, they could see a grey door in the right hallway where a blank wall had been before. The pair shared another look, then walked towards it.  
Inside the new room was a series of sculptures. The first, labeled “Wine Sofa”, was of a large wine glass cut diagonally, with a red cushion inside. Martin chuckled a bit upon seeing it.  
“That cannot be comfortable to sit in.”  
Jon couldn’t help but smile at the remark.  
The next one was a more traditional bust of a person, with curly hair and unclear gender. It was set on a brown pedestal, and was titled, “Melancholy”. The third, “Puzzle”, consisted of a skeleton painted with various colors: a red skull propped up by two black wires, blue ribs, and yellow and green limbs. Martin seemed a little concerned upon seeing it, but looking closer, he sighed in relief.  
“It’s plastic.”  
The final sculpture, called “Feeling”, was of a tree meant to resemble a person. “I wonder what was going through Orsinov’s head when he made these. Personally, I don’t understand most of them at all. They’re just unnerving,” Jon commented.  
“Yeah… Honestly, I don’t really get them either, and I’m a poet!” Martin joked, but Jon just looked up, intrigued.  
“You’re a poet?”  
“O-Oh, uh…” Suddenly embarrassed, Martin blushed and looked away. “Yeah, I… I write a little bit… It-It’s not that good, though…”  
Jon hummed. “Maybe you should let me read some of it, let me decide that for myself.”  
Martin’s blush deepened at that. He didn’t respond, choosing to instead poke around the room for anything else.  
When they found nothing, Jon sighed. “Maybe we need to solve another puzzle to unlock the next area?”  
“Yeah, maybe…”  
The two left the room and started back down the left hallway, this time going past the door to the maze.  
As they turned a corner past the labyrinth room, they were immediately met by dozens of large eyes opening and blinking up at them from the floor. Martin yelped in surprise and jumped back.  
“ _Jesus!!_ What the hell?!”  
Jon just blinked back at them, then looked at Martin. “I… don’t think they’re going to hurt us, Martin.”  
“Still! Why! Are there eyes! On the floor!”  
Jon shrugged.  
“How are you not even _slightly_ perturbed by this?!” Martin exclaimed, pointing furiously at the eyes, which were now all staring at him. He shuddered, backing away.  
“They’re just eyes, Martin. It’s not like they can do anything to us other than watch.”  
Out of arguments, Martin made a small noise of frustration before taking a few deep breaths to calm himself and stepping around the eyes, which followed his movements as he walked.  
Halfway down the corridor, Jon stopped, kneeling down to look closer at one eye in particular. Martin followed his gaze and gave an involuntary “ugh” of disgust. This single eye was pink and swollen, a stark contrast to the rest.  
“Let’s go, Jon.”  
Jon stood back up, and they walked to the end of the hallway and turned the corner.  
The next hallway was a dead end, and featured four more paintings and another hallway that seemed to connect with the place that they had started this area in. Three of the paintings were untitled and unremarkable, but the rightmost one was larger than the rest and featured a white snake slithering on gravel. It was mounted against a black matte and surrounded by a purple frame. An empty black socket sat where the snake’s eye should’ve been. Looking at it, Martin hesitantly asked, “Do you… think we have to find its eye?”  
“It’s certainly possible.”  
Martin hummed thoughtfully, turning and heading down the last hallway, back towards the start. Halfway down, though, it split off into another left-turning path. The pair shared a glance before both walking towards it.  
On the new hallway, there was a door immediately to the left, while the path itself continued down before eventually turning left again. Jon was first to test the doorknob, and seeing that it turned, he pushed it open. Inside was another maze, but it was nothing like Labyrinth- instead, the room was cluttered with stools and easels, each with a canvas on them that all depicted the exact same picture- a bottle filled with blue liquid and with a yellow label on it reading “Eyedrops”. At the far end of the room, a painting hung, the same as all of the canvases, save for a red-orange background and a strange purple liquid dripping from the upper-left corner.  
Jon surveyed the room for a moment before turning to Martin. “I think I know how to make it through here.” He stepped forward and began to push one of the stools. Sure enough, with a considerable amount of effort, it moved.  
The two of them maneuvered through the room, occasionally pushing more stools out of the way (Martin helping made it a lot easier), until they finally reached the painting. Just in front of it stood one last stool, this one carrying a real bottle of eyedrops. Jon picked it up and put it in his pocket.  
“Right. We can probably put these on the eye in the corridor…” Jon murmured, more like he was thinking through the puzzle out loud than like he was talking to Martin. He turned and started back the way they had come, wasting no time in finding his way back to the hall of eyes.  
Jon crouched down in front of the congested eye and carefully applied the eyedrops to it while Martin hovered just behind him, grimacing. Once Jon was done, the eye blinked a few times before opening again, the redness suddenly and miraculously gone. It looked at Jon in a way he might have called happy, if it weren’t for the lack of any other facial features that might indicate emotion. It then closed again, and somehow appeared to move down the hallway, nearly passing underneath Martin’s feet (he flinched and stepped back). The two of them turned around, only to see it staring at an empty patch of wall. Jon moved to investigate it first, touching his hand to the cold grey plaster.  
The second he made contact with the wall, a section of it fell away to reveal another corridor just big enough for the two of them to pass through. It was a fairly small passageway, and it led to a dead end. However, on the ground in front of the wall was a small, red, glass orb. Martin knelt and picked it up, turning it over a few times in his hand before calling back to Jon, “I think we found the snake’s eye…”  
The two of them left the passageway and returned to the white snake painting. Martin slotted the ball into the snake’s empty eye socket, and one of the other paintings on the wall fell to the ground, revealing writing on the back.  
Jon picked up the frame and read, “Behind the big tree…”  
Martin’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Remember that one sculpture called… um…” He took a moment to think, then snapped his fingers. “Feeling! That was it!”  
Jon nodded in recognition, and they made their way back towards the room of sculptures. As soon as they entered, the lights flickered before going out, plunging them into darkness. Instinctively Jon clung just a little closer to Martin, but the fear was unnecessary, as the lights came back on moments later. Slightly embarrassed, Jon stepped away from the other man’s side and started towards “Feeling”, until the lights went out yet again. He froze, expecting something to jump out at him at any moment, but after another few seconds the lights clicked back on.  
“Jon?”  
Jon flinched- Martin had apparently come up behind him in the dark.  
“I think it’s just doing that to scare us.” As if to prove his point, the lights once again went out, only to come back on in a matter of seconds. “If we just take a few steps at a time, we should be fine.” He held out his hand again for Jon to take, and again Jon’s cheeks went slightly pink as he took it.  
They made their way through the room like that, the lights going out every now and then, then coming back on. Finally they reached “Feeling”, and while Martin walked around it to look through its leaves, Jon noticed something shining on the ground. He leaned down to pick it up, revealing that it was a small silver wedding ring.  
“That’s… strange…”  
“What?” Martin responded, turning to look at what Jon held in his hand. “Wait, isn’t that…?”  
Jon nodded. “It wasn’t here before. I’m sure of it,” he added before Martin could reply. They looked at the ring for a moment, unsettled, before Martin finally spoke.  
“Well, we have it now, I suppose. A wedding ring…”  
This time it was Jon’s turn to have a sudden realization. He turned to face Martin, explaining, “The first paintings we saw in this area- they were a bride and a groom.”  
“Oh! So…”  
“We should head back there.”  
Jon pocketed the ring, and still hand in hand, the two left the room and walked back to the first room of the Grey Area. The moment they stepped into the room, the sculptures that were supposedly the bride’s hands stopped moving, then both turned towards Jon and started making grabbing motions. Jon went slightly pale.  
“You don’t think…”  
Martin took a deep breath before answering. “I’ll do it. Hand me the ring.”  
“Martin, I-”  
“It’s alright, Jon. I won’t get hurt, I promise.”  
Reluctantly, Jon gave the ring to Martin, who walked over to the sculpture labeled “Grieving Bride’s Left Hand”. Tentatively, like he was expecting to be burned, he slid the band onto the hand’s ring finger. The hand offered no resistance, and as soon as it was fitted on its finger, both hands stopped moving. Martin backed away slowly, waiting for something to happen, until at last he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning to look, the painting that had once been the “Grieving Bride” was now smiling, and as he watched, she threw her bouquet into the air, where it somehow landed on the floor inside the room.  
Jon and Martin glanced at each other, before Jon moved forward to take the flowers.  
“What… do we do with this?”  
“I’m not sure…” Martin paused and considered for a moment. “Wait, isn’t there one hallway we haven’t gone down yet?”  
Jon nodded, feeling a strange sort of dread. Martin appeared to be fine, though, and so he shook it off. “Yes, ah, let’s go that way.”  
They headed back towards the hallway that had led to the room where they had found the eyedrops and continued down the corridor to the left. As they turned, they were immediately met with a large painting that put Jon in mind of the paintings that had spat at them earlier. It was of a face made out of two light blue eyes, the left of which was melted in such a fashion that the blue seemed to drip off the canvas, and a grinning mouth of the same color, also having been melted in the same way the eye had. The image had a black background and a blue frame. Its eyes moved rapidly up and down, as it laughed hysterically to itself, occasionally murmuring, “Flowers… flowers’re nice…”  
As soon as Jon stepped forward the eyes stopped moving, focusing intently on the bouquet in his hands. Its gaze flicked up to meet Jon’s as it continued to laugh, then spoke again.  
“Give me that there flower and I’ll let you through… Your flower, pretty please?”  
Jon made to hold out the bouquet before a sudden thought crossed his mind, and he turned back to Martin, reaching into his pocket and holding out his blue rose.  
“Here, hold this for a moment. So that it doesn’t…”  
Martin seemed stunned for a moment, but wordlessly accepted the flower. It was only after Jon had turned back around that he realized the cause of Martin’s shock- he had basically just entrusted his life to some stranger. Unsure of exactly what to think about that, he simply went ahead with what he had been meaning to do anyway, and held out the bouquet towards the painting.  
Its words still interspersed with manic laughter, it only said, “Thanks, thanks… It smells nice…”  
Without warning, it grabbed the flowers from Jon’s hands, and the entire painting turned red for a moment. Once the bouquet was entirely gone, it became blue again, and it looked back up at Jon. “Thank you, thanks so much… As promised, you can go through. Just take this door in… Well, see ya!” The face disappeared, the image of a door appearing in its place.  
Jon looked back at Martin, who seemed fairly uneasy at the prospect of having to go through this painting that had just threatened to destroy their roses.  
“I think it’ll be okay, Martin. Actually, I, um, had to go through something similar to this a while before I found you. And besides,” he gestured vaguely to the sides of the hallway, “there’s not really anywhere else to go.”  
Martin nodded, but he still seemed hesitant. Finally, Jon just reached over and took Martin’s hand in his own. Martin immediately went red, but if Jon noticed, he didn’t say anything. Placing his other hand on the doorknob, he looked back at Martin (who was still blushing), and together the two of them stepped through to the next room.

The flower-eating painting’s door opened into a small grey hallway. Inside were two more paintings, and another door (a real one this time). The first painting was titled “Unbalanced Box”, and showed an upside-down box sitting on its openings, set against a blank background inside a light purple frame. Unlike Orsinov’s other paintings, there was practically no detail at all. The other…  
Martin only looked at the paintings for a moment before easily ignoring them and walking ahead to the door, but Jon lingered, letting go of the other’s hand.  
“Heart in Custody”. It was set against a grey background, mounted against a black matte, and surrounded by a yellow frame with silver corners, and it showed… it showed two hands holding a human heart. Not a cute illustration, either, but the real thing, so finely done that it seemed it could beat any moment. It was disturbing, to say the least.  
“Jon? You coming?”  
Jon shook off the unease and followed Martin into the next room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,, this chapter was originally just one, but it ended up being so long that i had to split it into two. so,, yeah  
> maybe holding hands.......... could be our forever........


	6. the grey area: part two

As he stepped through the door, Jon almost walked right into Martin’s back. “Martin? What-”  
Jon stopped mid-sentence as he looked just past the taller man and saw the extent of the hallway that stretched out before them. To either side was a long line of mannequin heads, blankly staring towards the middle of the hall. Their eyes and mouths were painted on, but so realistically that it seemed like they might blink if looked at long enough. There was just enough space in between each line to walk single file. To the left Jon could also see a series of paintings, each of a mannequin head wearing a different expression on its face.  
“Martin?” Jon lightly touched Martin’s arm, trying to get his attention, but Martin startled so hard that Jon flinched too.  
“Jon- s-sorry, sorry, it just- they just freaked me out a bit. Sorry.” Wringing his hands anxiously, Martin stepped to the side a few paces to allow Jon some room next to him before they started down the hall. Jon grimaced.  
“Yes, they are quite creepy, aren’t they.” Seeing that Martin didn’t seem inclined to move any time soon, Jon carefully pulled one of Martin’s hands away from its nervous motion and took it in his own again. “I’ll go first. Don’t fall behind.”  
The two made their way down the corridor. None of the mannequins moved, but their gazes seemed to follow them as they finally reached another door. Jon wasted no time in opening it and stepping through.

The next room was the biggest Jon had seen so far in this place. It was designed like a huge maze, but with doors and paintings at every turn. So many rooms, so many corridors…  
“Right. In a maze, you just have to keep to one side,” Jon murmured, turning to the right and heading down that direction. Martin followed close behind. Four headless mannequins awaited them at the next turn of the hallway, and for a moment Jon froze, but when they didn’t move, he edged past them and kept going.  
The first room the pair came across was locked and had a window that was too high up for either of them to see through. However, as Jon watched, he thought he saw a silhouette of… something flit across the glass. He blinked and it was gone, but the unease didn’t disappear.  
As they kept walking, the walls gradually started to fill with paintings, all of different women in different colored dresses. Martin was first to recognize one as the Lady in Blue that had stolen his rose, and he clung just a little closer to Jon. None of them attacked, though, and they kept walking safely.  
They passed one more locked door before reaching a room with two doors, each locked with a different panel to put in numbers. The first door’s had a note above it that read, “How many paintings of women are there in this room?” The other’s note read simply, “Enter password.” Without knowing the correct code to either door, they kept going until they reached the hallway that would connect them back with the place they had started. There, as they walked, a painting clattered to the ground in front of them- the Lady in Red. She dragged herself around to face them, expression contorted into a snarl, and gave chase. Martin stood frozen in fear, watching her advance, until Jon, still holding his hand, pulled him away.  
They ran aimlessly around the room for a minute or so, but no door was open. The only two places they had a hope of entering were the two that were locked with a passcode, and so as they dashed through the maze, the Lady in Red constantly on their tail, Jon began to count the paintings in his head.  
Finally re-emerging at the two doors, Jon went ahead to the right door’s panel and punched in “14”. The door swung open, and as they entered, Jon slammed the door shut behind them. There was a muffled sound of hands scrabbling at the base of the door, then silence. They took a moment to catch their breath, until Martin finally gasped out, “When- when we leave-”  
“I don’t think she’ll be there,” Jon cut him off. “I think,” he paused to take in another breath, “they go away if they don’t have anything to chase.”  
“Oh.” Martin straightened back up, still breathing fairly hard. “That’s- that’s good. I guess.”  
“Yes…” Jon stood up, his attention caught by something else. In the back of the room was a sign and a bookshelf, and in the center stood a small stool with a vase on it. Jon walked closer to look at the sign, then read it out loud.  
“Please do not touch the displays. If by any chance you damage any exhibits, you will…”  
When he didn’t continue, Martin wandered over to look.  
“Please do not touch the displays. If by any chance you damage any exhibits, you wil b comp sat n”  
“What… do you think this was meant to say?”  
Jon frowned. “I’m not sure…”  
The bookshelf was mostly empty, and several of the books that were on the shelves were completely blank, but one book did stand out among the others: “Wonderful Days”.  
Jon picked it out and opened it to its first page.  
“The gallery is like a spooky amusement park full of strange things!”  
“It’s so much fun playing here, the day was over before I knew it!”  
“Isn’t it a fantastic place? Why don’t you join me here?”  
“You’ll be fine with all this company…”  
Jon shuddered and put the book back in its place. Martin started to ask a question, but Jon quickly shook his head, and Martin shut his mouth.  
The vase in the room was filled with water, but neither of their roses had lost any petals yet.  
“We should probably save this for when we need it.”  
With nothing left in the room to look at, Jon walked back over to the door and placed his hand on the doorknob. Looking back at Martin, he asked, “Are you ready?”  
Martin still seemed afraid, but he nodded, and Jon turned the knob.  
Just as Jon had thought, the Lady in Red was gone, but in the distance both of them could still hear the faint scratching of her nails against the floor.  
“I… guess we should look for the passcode to the other door?” Martin suggested after a moment of silence.  
“Yes… Yes, we probably should…” Jon trailed off, not really paying attention to what Martin was saying. He worried at his bottom lip for a few moments before at last his eyes lit up. “I think I know where to go.”  
Taking Martin’s hand yet again, the two of them set off back to the left, finally reaching a single painting that was different from the rest. It showed a man hanging by his foot from a red rope, his eyes empty and black as though they were just sockets. It was set against a dark teal background, mounted against a black matte, and surrounded by a brown frame. A tag on his shirt read, “5629”. Jon committed the numbers to memory before heading back the way they had come.  
However, upon entering the code, the panel’s green light glowed red. “INCORRECT”, it now read in all capitals. From afar, the sound of scraping grew slowly louder.  
“How can that not be right?!”  
“I-I don’t know, give me a second, Martin!” Jon snapped, but the waver in his voice betrayed the panic he felt. He typed in the same numbers again, to the same result. “I- oh.” A slight smile on his face, he cleared the panel and entered “6295”. The door swung open, and they quickly entered the room, shutting the door behind them. Martin stared at Jon.  
“What-? How…?”  
“He’s the Hanged Man, Martin, he’s upside down, so the code on his shirt was upside down, too.”  
Martin took a moment to search for words for a response. “I- wow, th-that’s really clever, actually.”  
Jon grinned, looking up at Martin proudly. The taller man’s cheeks immediately colored, and he looked away, checking out the room as an excuse to not make eye contact.  
The room they had just unlocked had even less in it than the room to its right. All that was inside was a stool, an easel with a half-finished painting of a vase sitting on a table on its canvas, and an actual table with a vase on it. Based on the way they were positioned in the room, it almost looked like the artist could have been sitting on the stool, painting on the easel as they used the real vase as reference. The only problem was that the table was just a little too far to the right for any artist to have really been able to see it well while painting. In the corner where the table probably should have been set were four small holes in the floor, as though for its legs to fit into.  
“Do you… think this is some kind of puzzle?” Martin asked, stepping around the stool to glance inside the vase, which was empty.  
“Hm. Probably…” Jon walked forward as well, and as Martin moved out of the way, he started pushing the table towards the holes in the floor. It fit in perfectly, slotting into the ground with a click. From somewhere outside, there was a loud sound as if of something unlocking. They looked at each other for a moment, then walked back outside. The Lady in Red was still nowhere to be seen.  
Jon was just about to start going ahead, towards the direction of the noise, when Martin stopped him.  
“Uh… Jon?”  
Jon made a small sound of confusion and looked back, then froze.  
On the floor in the space between the two doors was a mannequin head, its eyes blankly staring directly at the two of them.  
“That… That wasn’t here before, right?”  
“No, I… don’t think it was…”  
Martin glanced nervously back at Jon, but he didn’t meet his gaze. He was focused on the mannequin head, and as Martin watched, he took a step closer to it.  
“J-J-Jon, I don’t think that’s a good idea, let’s go?” His voice pitched a little high at the end, and he might have been embarrassed if he weren’t so scared.  
Jon shook his head as if snapping out of a trance. “Y-Yes, right, sorry…”  
Martin couldn’t help but notice that this time Jon didn’t take his hand.  
The source of the noise, as it turned out, was the now-unlocked door closest to the right side of the room that they had come across earlier. Jon looked at Martin briefly before turning the doorknob and going inside.  
The room was long and dark, but not that big. Inside there was absolutely nothing- no windows, no vases, no stools- save for a single mirror hanging on the wall directly in front of them. The two walked closer until they could see themselves clearly in it. It really was just an ordinary mirror, it seemed.  
Martin turned to look at Jon, who just shrugged. “There’s still one door left. Maybe we should look for a k…” Jon’s voice died as he turned back towards the door to the room. Confused, Martin followed where he was looking.  
“Jon. When did that get in here.”  
The same mannequin head from the hallway was now inside the room with them, blocking the door. As far as they were watching, it had never moved, and yet…  
“J-Jon? I don’t like this, I’m scared…”  
Jon made no sound to acknowledge Martin, just turned around to look in the mirror again. Once again, Martin hesitantly did the same, his expression quickly becoming one of confusion as he saw that in the mirror at least, the mannequin head wasn’t at the door. Then he looked up, and his heart stopped.  
The mannequin head was perched on his shoulder, and even though he knew that in the real world it wasn’t there, he could almost feel its weight dragging him down.  
He screamed, and in his haste to get away, he tripped, falling to the floor hard. On instinct he drew his knees up to his chest and hid his face, shaking with terror. Upon seeing this, Jon at last seemed to become aware of what was going on.  
“Martin!!” He knelt next to him, trying desperately to calm him down. “Martin, it’s okay, I’m here, I won’t let it hurt you, I promise…”  
After a few moments Martin finally looked up at Jon. For one second, it seemed like he was about to say something, but then his gaze fell on the mannequin head just behind Jon. Eyes narrowed in an anger Jon had never seen before from Martin, he made a move to lunge at it, but Jon stopped him, gently holding him in place with one hand on Martin’s chest.  
“Martin! Martin, th-that’s not a good idea. I think…”  
Jon didn’t say what he thought, but Martin understood. He exhaled slowly, not meeting Jon’s eyes.  
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right… I’m sorry.” With the rage gone, he just sounded tired and defeated. Jon opened his mouth to say something, but Martin shook him off and stood up, already heading towards the door.  
“Let’s go.”  
“Martin, wait-”  
“I said, let’s go, Jon.”  
Jon sighed and followed.  
The moment Jon shut the door behind them, another crashing noise sounded from somewhere in the distance, and the sound of nails scraping along the floor doubled. The two shared a glance, then began to walk forward somewhat more cautiously. Almost immediately they were met with a Lady in Green painting, crawling out from a hallway to the right and then picking up speed as it noticed them. Without a word Martin turned them right around and began to walk in the other direction, until Jon stopped.  
“Hold on. All the other rooms are locked, so…”  
He started to head back the way they had come, but Martin grabbed his sleeve.  
“Jon! Jon, um, what are you doing? The, the paintings are that way?”  
“I-I know, it’s just- earlier, when I was- alone, one of the paintings was guarding a key? I think it might be the same here- there might be something we missed.”  
Martin made a short noise of frustration before allowing Jon to lead them back. The Lady in Green was still circling, not having noticed them yet, but sure enough, a small grey key lay on the floor, trapped within her path.  
“Okay, okay, so you were right, but how exactly do you plan on getting it?”  
“You grab it when she follows me.”  
“I- what?”  
Instead of explaining further, Jon stepped forward, directly into the painting’s line of sight. It stopped, staring directly at him, as it made some sort of chattering noise with its painted mouth, and then it began to scuttle forward. Martin’s eyes widened as he realized what Jon was doing.  
“Jon, w-”  
Jon took off running, leaving Martin standing alone in the corridor. He stood there, dumbfounded, for a long moment, before snatching the key from the ground and going after him.  
Not knowing which way Jon had gone, Martin took a few random turns before miraculously almost running straight into the shorter person.  
“Jon! Jon, don’t do that, god, are you okay?”  
Jon was panting, leaning against the wall with one hand. He nodded, though, and gasped out, “I’m- I’m fine. Managed to- to lose her. There’re- a few more back there-”  
“Jon, you- You’re bleeding,” Martin finally noticed, seeing the small tear at the bottom of his skirt.  
Jon shook his head. “It’s- It’s nothing. Still got six-” -he took his rose out of his pocket and looked at it- “-hm, no, five petals left.” Seeing Martin’s concern, he added, “It’s fine, really, Martin.”  
“Okay, still- let’s go back to the room with the vase in it, okay?” Martin took Jon’s hand, attempting to lead him to said room. “We can-”  
Jon shook him off. “Martin. I said it’s fine. We have to save that until one of us really needs it.”  
Martin looked like he wanted to argue, but evidently Jon wasn’t giving in. “Alright, alright.”  
“Did you get the key?”  
Martin nodded, holding it out for Jon to see.  
“Good, then let’s- ah- let’s go unlock some doors.” Jon let go of the wall and started moving, limping slightly on his bad leg. Martin followed just behind him, ready to catch him if he should fall.  
It took them somewhat longer to get to the bottom of the room, seeing as Jon was walking much slower than usual and every now and again had to stop for breath (which only made Martin more concerned), but finally they arrived at the lower locked room. Its window was still too high up to see through, but as if to add to the ominous atmosphere, it was now fogged over. Martin glanced to either side to make sure no paintings had followed them, then placed the key in the lock and turned it. The door opened easily, and they hurried inside, Martin closing the door again behind them.  
Inside the room, three bookshelves stood against a wall that had another window in place, also fogged over so that it was impossible to see through. In the right corner, there was another bookshelf. A canvas and a stool also stood on that side of the room, while a broken stool lay on the ground to the left. In the center of the room was a white couch, with red and white strings intertwining as they decorated the backrest. Jon staggered forward and sat down heavily on the couch, clutching at his leg. Martin sat beside him, seeming like he wanted to say something, before he noticed the way Jon was digging his fingernails into his calf, just above the gash.  
“Jon! Jon, stop that, you’re going to make it worse!” Martin made to move Jon’s hand away from the injury, but Jon brushed him off.  
“‘S fine, it-” -he hissed and dug his nails a little deeper- “It distracts from the pain a bit.”  
“Still, Jon-”  
Martin was cut off by a quiet click, and the words died in his throat.  
“That… That wasn’t the door, was it?”  
They looked at each other for a moment, then back to the door. After a moment of tense silence, Martin slowly got up and moved over to the door, trying its knob only to hear the rattle of a locked door. He stepped back just as the banging began.  
Jon flinched, going pale.  
“...We’re trapped,” Martin said, more stunned than terrified.  
“Martin, the window.”  
“What?” Martin turned back, confused.  
“The window, they can get through windows, Martin, cover the window!!” Jon’s eyes were wide with panic. He stood up in an attempt to walk over himself, but almost immediately collapsed again, his injured leg buckling under his weight.  
“Oh _shit_ \- Jon, don’t move!” Martin ran to the bookshelf closest to the window and shoved it to the side, so that the glass of the window was completely blocked.  
“Alright, we’re good. They can’t get through there anymore, but…”  
He didn’t need to say what they both already knew. There was no longer any way out for them.  
They remained there, silent, for another long moment before the banging resumed, this time at the back wall. The two shared a glance, but neither had the opportunity to say anything before a Lady in Yellow crashed through the plaster and started crawling towards them.  
“ _Fuck!_ Jon, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you’re gonna have to-”  
Before Martin could do anything, though, Jon seemed to realize the gravity of the situation and pushed himself up to standing, biting his lip through the pain. He seemed just about ready to run for it when he turned to face the back wall of the room and at last noticed the painting that was hanging there. He froze, blood draining from his face, until Martin grabbed his hand and tugged him along.  
Together, the two skirted around the room and ducked through the hole the painting had made. Outside, the maze had devolved into chaos. Nearly every painting was on the ground now, and there were definitely more mannequin heads lying around than there had been before. They ran. No time to stop when Jon stumbled, crying out in pain; no time to stop when one of the paintings caught up to Martin and clawed at him.  
At last they reached the final door in the labyrinth, miraculously cracked open, and Martin let Jon go through first before slamming it shut behind them, coughing a few times as he heaved for air. Jon went on a little further before slowing to a stop. His vision was swimming, and he swayed a few times until his leg gave out again and he went down to one knee.  
“Jon?”  
Martin was saying something, but it was difficult to hear over the roaring of blood in his ears. He tried to respond, but it was so hard, and he was so dizzy-  
He tilted to one side, and everything went black.

_Knock, knock._   
_Who is it, Mr. Spider?_

_It’s Mr. Bluebottle, and he’s brought you a cake._

_Mr. Spider doesn’t like it._

_Knock, knock._   
_Who is it, Mr. Spider?_

_It’s Mrs. Fruit, and she’s brought you some flowers._

_Mr. Spider doesn’t eat flowers._

_Knock, knock._   
_Who is it, Mr. Spider?_

_It’s Mr. Horse, and he’s brought you his son._

_Mr. Spider wants more._

_Mr. Spider wants another guest for dinner._

_It is polite_

_**to knock.** _

Jon came to with a start, gasping.  
“Jon! Calm down, you’re okay, it’s okay-” Martin was kneeling next to Jon, his hands flitting wildly about.  
“M-Martin? Wh-” Jon started to sit up, but Martin gently pushed him back down.  
“Jon, I really think you should rest-”  
“What happened? Where-?”  
“We- We were running, from the paintings, and-and then, you just fainted? This is- a safe room, I think- I brought you here after-” Martin cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “You scared me, Jon. I thought- I thought-” By this point his voice was shaking, and he had to stop talking to compose himself.  
Not knowing quite how to respond, Jon offered a soft, “I’m sorry.”  
“No, Jon, you don’t have to apologize- I’m the one who made you run, I’m the one who should be sorry-”  
“Martin, it’s okay. Besides, we’re safe now, aren’t we?”  
Martin nodded. “Um… We can leave whenever you’re ready. I-I just need a moment-” He got up and walked around a few bookshelves to the front of the room, before he sat down again and disappeared from Jon’s line of sight. After a moment, Jon got up to follow him, but not before glancing at the painting and the sign that hung on the back wall.  
It was set against a white background, surrounded by a light brown frame, and depicted several miscellaneous objects jumbled together. One looked like an umbrella, another a tree branch - it was all so abstract that it was difficult to make out. The plaque below it read “Untitled”.  
The sign was more threatening - all it said was:  
 **“Rules of the Art Gallery**  
 **No loud conversation**  
 **No photography**  
 **No food or drink**  
 **No touching the displays**  
 **No fountain pens**  
 **No leaving ever.”**  
Jon blinked, and when he looked again, the last rule had been replaced with, “No running in the building”. Frowning, he walked back past the bookshelves to where Martin was sitting, head back against one shelf in a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. Jon sat down next to him, just barely not touching him. They said nothing for a moment, before finally Martin broke the silence.  
“Odd painting in this room, huh?”  
“Uh- yeah, I guess so.”  
“Wonder if its name is actually “Untitled” or if Orsinov just… never gave it a title.”  
Jon hummed briefly, and they fell into another short silence before Martin snapped his fingers.  
“Oh! I was, I was going to give you… Uh, do-do you like sweet things?”  
“Um- y-yes, I suppose.”  
“‘Cause I have…” Martin rummaged around in one of his pockets for a moment before producing a candy with a bright pink wrapper. “I have some strawberry candy, and, um, I thought you might like it?” His cheeks had gone bright red.  
Jon stared at it for a second before smiling and taking it. “It matches your hair.”  
“O-Oh- uh- th-thank you?” Somehow even more flustered, Martin blushed harder and looked away.  
Jon laughed, tucking the candy away into his pocket. There was another brief pause before Jon asked, “Martin?”  
“Hm?”  
“Why… Why did you come here?”  
Martin scoffed. “Wasn’t like I had a choice, Jon. I was just wandering the gallery, then all of a sudden-”  
“No, no, I mean the actual museum- why did you come?”  
“Oh.” Martin was quiet for a moment. “It-It sounds kind of stupid, but…” He hesitated, fidgeting with the fabric of his sweater. “I was looking for inspiration for poetry.” He laughed weakly, looking up at Jon again. “Guess I found some, huh? I… I don’t really have all that many friends, or, or stuff to do most of the time aside from working, and I walk past the art museum a lot and the other day I saw that it was doing this exhibition, and I just thought, ‘what the hell?’, you know?”  
Jon nodded, despite not really knowing, and they were both silent yet again. After a few minutes, Jon tentatively moved just close enough to Martin for their legs and sides to be touching; then, when Martin didn’t complain, he laid his head gently on Martin’s shoulder.  
They stayed like that for a while, until at last Martin spoke again.  
“Hey, Jon?”  
“Hm?”  
“In the maze area earlier, in the room with the couch, you froze for a second.”  
Jon tensed even before Martin asked the question.  
“What-What was that about?”  
Jon lifted his head and shifted just a few inches away, just so that their bodies were no longer touching. “It- Th-The painting in there. I-I don’t- It-” He sighed. “It was a painting of my grandmother.”  
“It- _what_?” Martin pushed himself off the shelf, sitting straight up and looking directly at Jon. “What-? Jon, are you sure-”  
“Yes, I’m sure. Th-There’s no way it could’ve been anyone else. Either that, or it was just… a _weird_ coincidence. But, I mean, it just- it just looked exactly like her, and-”  
“But that doesn’t make any sense- why would- why would there be a painting of your grandmother here? Didn’t Gregor Orsinov live, like, 200 years ago-?”  
“I know, Martin, I just- It just startled me. That’s all.”  
Seeing that Jon wasn’t intending to say anything else on the matter, Martin sighed. They sat there for just a little bit longer, until at last Jon cleared his throat.  
“Well. We should probably get going?”  
“Oh- yeah.” Martin stood, then offered Jon his hand. Jon took it, and Martin pulled him up to standing as well. “Let’s go?”  
As they turned to go, Jon looked back to where a vase sat in the center of the room. “Should we-?”  
“Ah, no, it’s okay, I, uh- I healed your rose while you were-”  
“Oh- I see.” Jon paused, then added, “Thank you.”  
“No problem.”  
Together, they left the room.

Outside the hallway was just as they had left it, though now that they weren’t running for their lives, Jon could see several large paintings hung up on the walls, all of the same portrait of a man- or perhaps it was a mannequin? His complexion was so pale white that it was hard to tell.  
Ignoring them and their eerie smiles, he instead turned to Martin, holding his hand once more as they walked down the stairs at the end of the hallway towards the next area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is the only reason i can now recite all of a guest for mr. spider from memory


	7. the violet area: part one

Down the stairs, the color of the walls and floor gradually changed from a pale grey to a dark purple-blue. Almost immediately Jon was hit with a sudden wave of vertigo, but he shook it off and kept moving. To the left there was a door colored a perfect violet, and Martin walked up to it, rattling the doorknob uselessly.  
“It’s locked.”  
As they continued, they came across a small maze-like area to the left almost entirely blocked off by rope, except for one section where a person could enter. Inside were three paintings, each of a differently colored button, three of the headless statues that seemed to be everywhere, and a small bookshelf. None of the statues were moving; they stood facing straight ahead ominously.  
“We probably shouldn’t go in there…” Jon said, staring at one of the statues that was clothed in a red dress. Martin squeezed his hand gently, and they kept going.  
Up ahead, the hallway turned sharply to the left, then left again. On the wall hung a small painting, its entirely white background divided into jigsaw pieces by light grey lines. Martin went up to it excitedly.  
“Wow, it’s been a long time since I saw one of these.”  
Jon walked up to the painting as well, looking at its title: “Milk Puzzle”.  
“I tried to do one once a while ago, but I couldn’t figure it out ‘cause all the pieces were the same color. I guess it’s arguable that they’re not actually all that interesting since they don’t even make a picture in the end, but still, it was something to do, you know?” Martin continued.  
A short ways down the hallway was another painting, this one named “Fleeting Thoughts on a Moonlit Night”. It showed a cherry blossom tree, its petals fluttering in the wind. On the top left there was a moon, painted a dull yellow. Its background was a dark teal, and it was mounted against a black matte, with a brown frame.  
At the end of the corridor was a mirror and two more violet doors, one on each side. Martin stayed close to the opposite wall as they passed, but it appeared to be just a normal mirror.  
The right wall’s door was locked with a passcode, but the left side’s opened easily, and they stepped through into the smallest room yet. There was a cord hanging from the ceiling on the left side, and a headless mannequin with a red dress blocked a door on the opposite side of the room.  
Jon clung to the left wall as Martin stepped forward.  
“I’m going to move this, okay, Jon?”  
Jon nodded, and Martin pushed the statue to the side easily. As he did, he looked up the length of the cord- it did appear to go right into the ceiling, but it seemed likely that it connected with something else up there. Martin came over to examine it.  
“Do you think-?”  
“Probably. I’m going to pull it- stand back in case it does hurt us.”  
Martin took a few steps back, and Jon tugged on the cord. There was a faint clicking noise from somewhere, but nothing else happened. The two looked at each other, then left the room through the door that the mannequin had been blocking.  
The door led to the hallway that they had started the area in, but this time, there was a message written on the wall in violet paint.  
“What is the title of the large floor painting in Orsinov’s exhibition?”  
“Oh! The one with the anglerfish, right? It was… It was… Something of the deep? Ugh, I can’t quite remember-”  
“‘Abyss of the Deep’,” Jon cut in with a sense of certainty that for some reason brought with it a sinking feeling.  
“That’s it! That’s probably the passcode to that door, right? Let’s go!”  
They cut back through the small room to the locked door, and Martin eagerly typed in “Abyss of the Deep”. The panel’s light glowed green, and the door clicked unlocked.  
Inside the room was a large painting hung in the center of the opposite wall, and a few bookshelves on either side. The painting, titled “Separation”, depicted several black silhouettes. In the center, what appeared to be a tangle of vines formed a kind of barrier between what looked like a falling leaf on the left side and a hand on the right. Its red background and dark red matte created an ominous air, even threatening. The corners of its silver frame were colored such a deep red that it might have been blood, not paint.  
Jon walked over to the bookshelves and started leafing through books on one side, while Martin took the other side. Upon opening one book to a random page, he found that the contents were… obscene, to say the least, and he quickly put it back, fighting the urge to gag. Another book simply read, “The women here… like playing ‘Loves Me, Loves Me Not’” over and over again. Remembering the state in which he had originally found Martin, Jon placed that one back on the shelf as well, feeling even more uneasy than before. However, the second the book slid into place, the lights flickered off and the entire room went pitch-black.  
Martin yelped. “Jon! Jon, are you there?”  
“I’m right here, Martin,” Jon called back, trying to find his way over to where Martin was before stopping short.  
“Martin, I’m going to try something. Don’t move, okay?”  
“Jon, what-?”  
“I have a lighter. I’m going to see if I can get it to work.”  
“...Alright.”  
Jon dug around blindly in his pocket for a moment, before finally closing his hand on a small, cold object. He took it out and clicked the button a few times, before finally a small flame appeared- and with it the lights in the room flicked on.  
Martin had moved into the center of the room, and he was staring at the front wall, his expression one of sheer terror. Jon followed his gaze, and froze.  
On the walls (and on the floor, too, now that he looked) were huge words written in brightly colored paint.  
 **“H E L P”**  
 **“N O”**  
 **“D O N ’ T K I L L M E”**  
 **“S T O P”**  
 **“D O N ’ T”**  
After a moment of tense, horrified silence, Jon finally spoke up. “...Good lord.”  
“Let’s get out of here, okay, Jon?” Martin’s voice shook, and he was already backing away, towards the exit of the room. Jon took his hand again and looked back one more time before closing the door behind them.  
Outside, the walls had more words written over them, painted in an organized, neat font, but with complete disregard to the doors or the mirror. Even the knob of the door that Jon had just closed was written on, and when he pulled his hand away, it came dripping with wet, red paint.  
 **“A notice to all visitors.**  
 **There is a strict ban on fire-starting**  
 **implements in the gallery.**  
 **We request that you please report the**  
 **use of any matches, lighters, or the like.**  
 **Should the use of such implements**  
 **be reported to the staff,”**  
The message cut off. Jon stared at it for a moment before slowly putting the lighter back in his pocket, feeling somewhat ill. Martin glanced at it for a second before quickly turning and walking back down the hallway, in the direction of the “Fleeting Thoughts on a Moonlit Night” and “Milk Puzzle” paintings. Jon moved to follow him, but Martin suddenly stopped.  
On the floor in front of them was a set of red footprints, going down the hallway, to the right, and then entering a small passage that Jon was certain hadn’t been there before. The two looked at each other briefly, before Jon gently took his hand yet again and started forward, towards the passage.  
Through the passage was another violet door, and Jon briefly let go of Martin’s hand to open it before stepping through-  
-and immediately walking headfirst into something.  
The something stepped back lightly, tilting its head to the side as Jon scrambled backwards.  
“Oh, hello. Wasn’t expecting to see anyone else here. Who might you be?”  
It was a woman, with pale skin, blonde hair cut short and striking blue eyes. She wore a green dress with a blue ribbon, and as she talked she smoothed it down some. Her voice seemed just a touch too low for her appearance. Jon’s first thought was that she looked like something out of a painting, and he dismissed the idea, seeing as given the situation, that was a comment in very bad taste.  
“Uh- I’m Jon. This is Martin,” Jon said, gesturing to the taller man.  
Martin looked somewhere between excited and suspicious. “Were you a visitor to the gallery, too?”  
The woman nodded. “Yes. I was looking around the museum when the lights went out and I suddenly found myself here. My name is Sasha James; please, call me Sasha.” She extended one hand for a handshake, and the motion seemed almost mechanical, her tone too emotionless. Still, her story made sense with theirs, and Jon shook her hand, then Martin.  
“Good to meet you. We’re looking for a way out- want to join us?” Jon asked.  
Sasha smiled. “That would be wonderful.” Without waiting for anyone else to speak, she turned and started walking the way she had come.  
At the end of the hallway was a vase, and to the left was a painting. Its caption read, “The Force of Quarrel”, and it was of a woman in a yellow-green dress arguing with a man in a grey shirt. It had a purple background and a dark cyan frame.  
Jon approached the vase first, then looked back to Martin. “It’s full- do you need to-?”  
Martin shook his head. “I’m okay for now, I think.”  
Sasha looked between them, confused. “What are you talking about?”  
“Oh!” Martin took his own, pink rose out of his pocket, and Jon showed his, too. “Do you have a rose, Sasha?”  
Sasha still looked bewildered, but she removed a bright yellow rose from her pocket. “Yes, I do- why do you ask?”  
“The roses here- They’re kind of like our life force? If you lose all the petals, you die, so don’t give it to anyone, and try not to get hurt. The vases, um, they heal them,” Martin explained. Sasha stared at her rose, frowning, before shrugging.  
“If you say so.”  
The trio continued on their way, turning left at the end of the hallway.  
Up ahead there was a sign posted on the wall, and Jon walked forward to read it out loud.  
“Which one is it really?”  
Sasha cocked her head to the side again. “Huh. Wonder what that means.”  
The corridor continued for a while longer before splitting into two paths. One led straight forward to one door, and the other curved to the left first before turning right again to a different violet door. On the wall between was a painting. Its outer frame was purple, and the inner one was white. It showed a completely barren, brown patch of soil with a small red dot at the top, and its title read “Flowers of Jealousy”. Sasha went to the door on the right first and turned the doorknob, to no avail.  
“This door’s locked. Should we try the other one?” she asked, turning back to Jon and Martin.  
Jon nodded, and Martin went ahead to the left, then right to try the door. Jon and Sasha followed, and when it opened, all three entered.  
Martin froze the moment they stepped inside, and Jon and Sasha walked around to either side of him to look around. This was a bigger room, and to the left and right were shelves containing dozens of glass rabbits. In the center of the room were two tables and some stools, and at the back were two bookshelves and a large painting of a red-eyed, pink rabbit sitting in a grassy field. Its background was light blue, and it had a black inner frame, with a reddish-brown outer frame. It didn’t appear to have a title. Sasha went right up to the painting and poked it, smiling to herself.  
“Aw, it’s kinda cute, isn’t it?”  
Martin stared at her in outright horror. “Wh-What the hell about this is cute? It’s terrifying, is what it is! This whole room is unsettling!”  
Sasha blinked. “It is…? What do you think, Jon?”  
Jon shrugged, looking at Martin in concern. “It’s cute, sure.”  
“Y-You…” Martin sighed. “Fine. Fine. I’m just going crazy. Fine.”  
Jon watched him for a few moments longer before turning to the bookshelves and picking up a random book. Its title read “Ruin of the Heart”, and it read, “If your spirit suffers too much, you will soon start to hallucinate… And in the end, you will be destroyed. And more worrying yet… Is that you will not even be conscious of that fact.” Jon frowned, glancing back at Martin, whose gaze was darting between the rabbits like he was expecting one of them to jump at him. A sound of glass shattering came from the other side of the room, and Martin flinched, staring at the fallen green rabbit.  
“Oh- sorry- I just knocked it over,” Sasha called from the other shelf, and Jon came over to look. Sasha bent down to rummage through the shards, then stood up, holding a violet key. “Huh. Lucky, I guess?”  
“We can probably use this to open the door out there,” Jon suggested.  
“Thank god. Let’s get out of here?” Martin said, once again already heading for the door. Jon nodded, and they left the rabbit room behind them.  
They were just walking past “Flowers of Jealousy” again when Jon stopped.  
“Jon? What-?”  
Jon shushed him. “Do you hear that?”  
All three were quiet, and sure enough, a faint scratching sound could be heard, seeming like it was coming from the painting. As they watched, the small red dot at the top of the painting gradually bloomed into a huge, dark red rose that protruded from the picture, along with several green vines.  
“The sound’s getting closer…” Sasha commented, her tone worried but her eyes strangely devoid of emotion, before the room shook, and three vines shot up from the ground, nearly impaling Jon. He gasped, dodging to the left along with Sasha. Still on the right side, Martin just had time to yell Jon’s name before even more vines came up, effectively forming a barrier between them.  
Martin ran up to the vines. “Are you all right?!”  
Jon answered from the other side. “We’re okay! But-”  
“We’re separated now, I know… There’s gotta be a way through this somehow, maybe-” He touched one of the vines, then brought his hand back. “They’re- They’re made of stone…”  
Sasha turned to Jon. “Hey, we found that key in the other room, right? We might find something to get rid of the vines through the door it unlocks. Should we go look?”  
“Are-Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Martin asked.  
“We’ll be fine!” Sasha exclaimed cheerfully. “You just wait right there!”  
Martin still seemed unhappy about it, but he only said, “If you’re sure.”  
“We’ll be right back, okay, Martin? It’s going to be alright,” Jon said, as Sasha bounced on her heels impatiently. He turned to Sasha, holding the key in one hand. “Let’s go.”  
The key fit in the lock perfectly, and the two entered the next area, leaving Martin behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i introduce the final character... at last... i hate her so much...  
> also i'm sorry if she's ooc! i hc her a little differently for every situation i put her in and it was honestly already very difficult to write her, so...  
> hehe martin alone again what crimes will he be the victim of


	8. the violet area and the brown area: part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i'm sorry i have to have notes at the beginning just for this chapter because there's something i have to explain. it is around this point in the game that the puzzles start making, quite frankly, no sense whatsoever. this is because ib and mary (jon and sasha) are separated from garry (martin), but the player controls both. some puzzles require the player to switch between points of view, get one clue as ib, and then put in the answer as garry, despite the two characters technically having no way to communicate. because of this, i had to kind of... make up a bunch of stuff that doesn't quite make sense. still. sorry about that in advance.  
> when in doubt, web.

Jon and Sasha opened the door to a room painted entirely brown. Cardboard boxes littered the floor, and a few headless statues stood around, not moving. An easel in the back of the room featured a doodle of an unrecognizable animal, and at the back wall was another door. The pair moved into the room and began looking through boxes individually. Most contained art supplies- paper, brushes, tools, and the like. Sasha dug around inside one box before pulling out a small palette knife. She turned it over a few times before putting it in one of her pockets. Jon caught this, and he called, “Is that safe?”  
“I think so. It’s not all that sharp anyway, but I thought I might keep it just in case?”  
Jon nodded- it made sense, but still, he couldn’t shake the unease.  
After a while longer of searching, Sasha stood up and sighed. “I don’t think there’s anything useful in here. Should we just go back to Martin for now?”  
Jon was just about to agree when the lights flickered and went out. They were only off for a moment, but when they came back on, one of the headless mannequins had moved- the exit was now blocked.  
Sasha had apparently seen what happened, too, because she was staring at the mannequin in confusion.  
After a few seconds of standing there, paralyzed, Jon ran to the mannequin, trying in vain to push it to the side. Sasha went to help him, but even with their strength combined it wouldn’t budge.  
Sasha was quiet for a moment, and Jon stayed silent, too, only thinking about how he might never see Martin again.  
“Jon?”  
“Hm?”  
“We can’t get out this way, but we can try going through that door. We might still find a way to meet up again.”  
“...Yes, you’re… you’re right. Let’s go.”  
The two walked over to the door, which was miraculously unlocked, and Jon led the way through. Inside was a long, winding hallway, with two windows. As they walked past them, Jon was sure that he saw a person pass by on the other side, and he flinched when something banged on the other one. Sasha didn’t react at all, though, and they kept going. The lights in the hallway continuously flickered on and off, making it hard to see most of the time, so Jon nearly stepped in a pool of red paint splashed at the bottom of a staircase at the end of the corridor.  
At the top of the stairs was a painting titled “Clown”, depicting a white face with a yellow star under the right eye and a blue teardrop under the left. There was a blank spot right in the middle, where a nose should have been, and Jon glanced back down the stairs to the red splatter. The painting was surrounded by a red frame. Sasha tilted her head to look at it, then kept going, turning left with the hallway. Jon followed behind her, but startled when light brown paint leaked through the wall to form four messages, all in a row.  
 **“I want you have to fun, Jon”**  
 **“Come to a fun world with me”**  
 **“We’ll be together”**  
 **“You, me, and our friends”**  
At the end of the corridor was another brown door, and Sasha opened it easily.  
Inside was a small room with a door on the opposite side, but in the very center a huge chasm had opened, making it impossible to go through. Five cords hung from the ceiling above the gap, all too high to reach, along with a single painting. It had a green background and a yellow frame, and only depicted two large eyes. They stared at Jon, and he was about to dismiss it as it just being creepily painted when they blinked. He blinked back, then turned to Sasha, who only commented, “I wonder what Martin’s doing…”

On the other side of the vines, Martin paced back and forth. It had been several minutes now since Jon and Sasha had left, and he hadn’t heard a thing from them. Finally he stopped, calling their names a few times. When he got no response, he sighed.  
“I knew I shouldn’t have let them go alone, I knew it, I…”  
He turned and walked down the hallway, facing the door to the right. “Don’t think I have a choice…” He mumbled to himself before opening the door and going back inside.  
On either side inside the room were shelves containing dozens of dolls, all dressed as clowns. They each had different makeup and different expressions, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that all of them were staring directly at him. At the back of the room was a large painting of a mannequin’s face, or rather, the empty space where its face should have been. Two red triangles were upside-down underneath where its eyes might have been, and it had a painted-on smile, but nothing else. It wore a tophat, and if it did have eyes, it would have been staring directly outwards. Its title read, “The Ringmaster”. Martin shuddered- the room hadn’t changed at all, but somehow alone it was even more creepy. Even more dolls hung from the ceiling, all in different dancer’s poses. Most of them were broken, though, and their limbs hung at odd angles. One’s neck even seemed to be snapped. Feeling deeply uneasy, Martin started to poke around the bookshelves, glancing around at the dolls every now and then. At last, after removing one book at random and putting it back in, the bookshelf shook, then moved to the side. Behind it there was a small passage. Martin looked around one last time, then headed through.  
Inside was a room that looked like it might have been straight out of an escape game. On the wall opposite Martin was a locked door, and to the right five cords hung from the ceiling. On the ground in front of the cords was a small, triangle-shaped hole. Next to the door, a message written in purple paint read, “There is no exit. There is no reason.”  
Martin stood in front of the cords, unsure what to do. Finally, he began to just start pulling them at random. The left cord resulted in a black, claw-like hand emerging from the wall and swiping at him, and he just barely managed to dodge out of the way. The next cord sprayed him with a red gas, leaving him coughing and gagging. When he recovered, he pulled out his rose, confirming his fear- two petals were gone. The third cord did absolutely nothing, even when tugged several times, and Martin shrugged and moved on. The fourth cord resulted in a faint scraping sound from somewhere in the distance, but nothing else, and so Martin moved onto the last cord. This one being pulled caused a small doll to drop to the floor, dressed as a clown similar to the ones from the previous room. Its head was half-ripped off, and stuffing spilled out through the hole.  
Despite the horrors that the cords had resulted in, none of them seemed to have opened the locked door, and so Martin began to pace the room anxiously.  
 _Where were Jon and Sasha right now?_

In the brown area, Jon and Sasha watched as suddenly and for seemingly no reason, one of the five cords above them clicked, sliding back up into the ceiling. With it, the painting of the eyes came sliding down the wall, forming a sort of bridge over the hole in the floor. Jon stared at it for a second, before remembering the last time he had used a painting to cross a gap.  
He stepped forward and looked the painting in the eyes, asking, “Is it okay for us to cross?”  
The painting looked up at him, then closed its eyes. Sasha smiled. “Guess so!”  
Across the gap, a blue, triangular object lay on the floor. Jon frowned at it.  
“What’s wrong, Jon?” Sasha asked, tilting her head.  
“It’s… It’s just strange. I was just thinking, this whole gallery is filled with puzzles for us to solve… And since we can’t use this right now, what if…” He walked towards the object, knelt down, and attempted to lift it. When it didn’t move at all, he tried pushing it in multiple directions, then finally towards the gap. “It’s like it’s on a magnetic track- the only way it can move is towards the hole, so…” Carefully, Jon pushed the object towards the chasm and let it fall. He couldn’t see it land- the hole was too dark; however, he did hear a faint thud. “Hopefully that worked.”  
“Huh. Well, anyway. Let’s keep going?”  
Sasha opened the door, and they stepped inside.  
Through the door was an extremely thin hallway. The floor here was still brown, but it was more decorative, with a black pattern interwoven on the tiles. Lanterns hung on the walls. They began to walk down it.  
“So. Jon.”  
“Mhm?”  
“Is Martin your boyfriend?” Sasha grinned at Jon, who had gone a dark red and was spluttering for an answer.  
“No-! We-We just met here, and- I don’t-”  
“I see, I see.” Sasha was still grinning evilly.  
They walked a while longer in silence before Sasha spoke again.  
“Hey, Jon. If only two of us could get out of here… what would you do?”  
Jon paused at the sudden question. “What makes you ask that?”  
“Oh, I don’t know. Just a thought. What would you do?”  
Jon hesitated. “I’d… I… I don’t know.”  
“Hm.”  
They were silent the rest of the way down the hallway, until finally they reached a door. Jon opened it, and they continued on through.  
Inside was one of the largest rooms yet, and Jon could see doors to several more rooms all around. One door was blocked by clouds of red gas that Jon figured likely wouldn’t be very safe to go through, but the rest seemed fine.  
“Should we just try the doors in order?” Sasha asked.  
Jon shrugged, opening the nearest door to them.  
In this room, there were three small tables near the walls, each with a mannequin head on them. In the left corner there was a spiderweb, but no spider to be seen. On the table furthest away there was also a small key, and on the wall to their left a painting hung.  
Its caption read, “Lady Without Her Umbrella”, and showed a woman, too covered in shadow to make out any details. It had a white background, and was surrounded by a light blue frame.  
Jon walked around the room to take the key, which up close he saw was built like a tree, and he was just about to leave the room when he stopped and turned back.  
“Jon? What are you doing?”  
“I… don’t know. It just…” He walked towards the second table and started to push the mannequin head to the side.  
“Jon, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Besides, it looks really heavy…”  
Jon ignored her, and the mannequin head crashed to the ground, breaking into pieces. Its black eyes crying blood yet its expression still completely devoid of emotion, it stared up at Jon. Where it had fallen, more red gas rose from a crack in the floor, and Jon quickly recoiled before it could touch him.  
“Why did you do that?” Sasha’s tone was somewhere between frightened and accusatory.  
“I’m… I’m not sure. I… Let’s get out of this room.”  
They left, and as Sasha closed the door, Jon could see a painting hanging on the opposite wall. Its title read, “Fisherman”, and it showed a black stick figure fishing at the edge of a riverbank. It had a sky blue background and a green frame. Despite it being a painting, the water rippled like it was real. Jon frowned at it- he vaguely remembered the painting having been there when they first came into this area, but he was sure the figure in it hadn’t been there then. There was a door to the left of it, but upon turning its knob it appeared to be locked, so Jon started heading towards the left side of the room. At the back of the room hung another painting- this one titled “Tattletale”. It showed a red-lipped mouth, similar to the “Lips” painting in the yellow area, and was set against a dull blue background, with a brown frame.  
The two kept walking through the room- there were only two doors left. Jon headed for the closer one first.  
The room inside was completely colorless- even the people, Jon noticed as he looked down at himself, had been completely drained of color. Sasha stared at her own dress for a moment before merely commenting, “Strange.” Not only this, but this room was also divided by a large gap in the center, just like the room with the cords they had been in not too long ago. On the left side of the platform they were on stood a canvas and a table. On the canvas was a black and white rainbow done in shades of grey, and just above the table hovered a palette and a brush, as if someone invisible was standing there holding them. Across the gap Jon could just make out a stool with a key on it and a painting that was too far away to make out. For now, though, there was no way to reach it, so they exited the room.  
To the left of the door they had just come out of was another painting, titled “Heavenly Thread”. It showed a black thread hanging from the top of the right side of the painting, against a white background that turned to grey across the bottom-left corner. It was surrounded by a brown frame with yellow corners.  
The final room of the area was also locked, this time by a passcode panel. To the right of the door hung yet another painting, called “Skin and Scales”. It was a simple pattern of orange, diamond-shaped scales, set against a violet background, mounted against a black matte, and surrounded by a dark teal frame.  
As Jon looked closer, he could see that the panel was giving a prompt of an image- a painting of a starry night sky viewed from a grassy hill. It was surrounded by a striking silver frame. The panel said nothing else, but from the blanks meant for letters it was evident that it wanted the name of the painting. Jon stared at it for a moment, before beginning to laugh. Sasha looked up at him, alarmed. “What? What’s so funny?”  
“Nothing- it’s just- this was one of the paintings that the actual gallery advertised as being part of the Orsinov exhibition. It’s-It’s called ‘Marvelous Night’.” Jon put in the words, and sure enough, the panel’s light glowed green and the door swung open.  
Inside was a small room, with several bookshelves and one last painting, the smallest one yet. Its title was, “A Lone Keyhole”, and, true to its name, it showed a tiny keyhole. It was set against a brown background, mounted against a black matte, and surrounded by a green frame. Jon pulled the key that was shaped like a tree out of his pocket, looked at it for a moment, and placed it in the painting’s keyhole. Amazingly, it turned, and when he pulled the key back out, the keyhole had disappeared, but nothing else seemed to have happened. Sasha tilted her head again (it seemed to be a habit of hers), but said nothing.  
Before leaving, Jon looked through a few of the books on the shelves. One, titled “Collected Works of Orsinov”, was simply a list of paintings done by Gregor Orsinov. Jon flipped through a few random pages, taking note of the paintings described.  
 **“The Lady in Red (6210)**  
 **It was said that he based this on a lover he had at the time, but he has denied this claim. In truth, Orsinov based it around the ugly women who attempted to court him for his inheritance.”**  
 **“The Geometrical Fish (6235)**  
 **Despite being greyscale, this curious piece makes clever use of shading and angles to give the impression of color. The meticulous detail put into even the scales evokes a wide variety of emotions in people.”**  
 **“Juggling (6223)**  
 **A piece based on one of the jugglers at the circus that he formerly worked at. As it is extremely rare for Orsinov to use real people as models, this painting is highly valuable.”**  
Jon placed the book back on the shelf, frowning. The dates mentioned in the book made no sense- they seemed to be at completely random time intervals throughout the year 6200, a few thousand years in the future. He turned to leave, Sasha trailing along behind him.  
 _God, he hoped Martin was okay._

Martin jumped, interrupted from his pacing by the sound of a heavy object clattering to the floor. He went to inspect whatever had fallen, only to find that it was a large, blue triangular object, seemingly made of plastic. He looked at it, then at the triangle-shaped hole. The object fit perfectly, and the door clicked open.  
Through the door was a long hallway that continuously turned left and right, and immediately as Martin entered he saw a doll sitting against the wall of the corridor. It looked just like the other dolls from the previous room, but this one was wearing a pink top with a flowy white skirt, two twin upside-down triangles positioned underneath its eyes, just like the painting of the “Ringmaster”. Its red nose jutted out from its face, and its black hair was wild atop its tiny head. Beside it, purple paint leaked through the wall, spelling out, **“Hello there, Martin… I don’t like being alone… Take me with you…!”**  
Martin quickly turned to the left and speed-walked down the hallway, trying to get away from it as fast as possible. But as he progressed, white fog began to lap at his heels, and he suddenly became aware that it was far too cold for comfort. As if to add to his suffering, with every corner he turned, the doll seemed to follow him, too, with a new message every time.  
 **“Hey, why aren’t you taking me?”**  
 **“Why are you ignoring me? Do you hate me?”**  
 **“Hey, play with me! I know lots of fun things we can do…”**  
 **“I’ve got lots of friends, too… I’ll introduce you!”**  
 **“Be here forever…”**  
At last, Martin reached the end of the hallway, but inexplicably that same clown doll was there, blocking the door to the next room. By now Martin was beginning to grow more angry than afraid, and he nearly made to kick it into the wall, before remembering how Jon had stopped him from breaking the mannequin head back in the grey area. He took a deep breath, bent down, and moved it to the side.  
“I’m not going to be your friend.”  
He opened the door and stepped through, leaving behind one last violet message:  
 **“T A K E M E”**  
The room that Martin found himself in now remained violet in color, but was much, much bigger than the previous ones. In the center there was a large, circular room with no windows and a single, locked door, and to the right were a few paintings hanging on half walls, along with two more doors. Behind the circular room in the middle were two final doors, a vase, and a few more paintings. Martin went around to the back two doors first, entering the first one he saw.  
Inside this room were seven empty stands, each shaped to hold a circular object. On the back wall, a sign read, “Collect the seven balls of paint… Then the room will be colored, and your bridge will be made.” A large sculpture of a paint palette hung just above the sign.  
 _Well, looks like I have a puzzle to solve._  
Martin left the room and headed for the next door, taking note of the two paintings that hung between them. One was titled “Marvelous Night”, while the other was called “Depths”. This one showed an abstract image made up of red lines and some kind of indistinguishable shape in the center left. It was set against a white background, mounted against a black matte, and surrounded by a dark grey frame.  
The door to the right of the room Martin had just left was decorated by a little plaque of a tree hung just above it. He tested the door, and when it wasn’t locked, he went inside.  
The Tree Room had two sides, both absolutely filled with bookshelves. A sign hanging on the center wall between the two sides read, “No checking out books.” The right side was blocked off, ironically, by three bookshelves, but the left side was open for reading. Martin walked around the room, flipping through books at random.  
 **“Theories on This World”**  
 **“Via a trading of existences, the imaginary can be made reality.”**  
(Martin put this one back on the shelf, feeling uneasy for some unknown reason.)  
 **“Terror”**  
 **“Being alone is fearful. A group of two can have relief. A group of three…”**  
(The book ended there without finishing the sentence.)  
 **“The Essentials of Color”**  
Martin was just about to start skimming through the book when a small object fell out, landing on the floor next to him with a bounce. He kneeled down to pick it up, only to find that it was a small green ball of paint. The moment he touched it, however, it disappeared, and he stood back up, frowning.  
At the back of the left side of the room was another painting, named “Enlightenment”. It showed an eye facing to the right, with no color apart from the black charcoal lines, the grey background, and the yellow frame.  
With nothing left to do in the room, Martin left, turning back to investigate the room with the sign instructing him to find the balls of paint again.  
When he entered, he was relieved to find the green paint ball sitting on its stand, and he left again, knowing now exactly what he had to do.  
Beside the door to the Tree Room was a vase, and, seeing that it was a different color than the usual grey (this one was a bright blue), Martin dipped his rose inside. His theory was confirmed when the rose came out whole and the vase was still full, and he made a mental note of it.  
The next door he came across was locked, and beside it hung a strange painting, titled “Fishing Hook”. It had a blue background and a green frame, and depicted the line of a fishing rod and its hook. The hook itself, though, seemed to emerge from the bottom of the painting, swaying gently from side to side. It seemed real enough, and sharp too, so Martin opted not to touch it.  
Continuing downwards, a half wall protruded from the ground, with two paintings hanging on it. The first was called “Worry”, and showed a portion of a white face on the right side of the canvas, with a singular eye. It had a blue background and was surrounded by a violet frame with gilded corners, and as Martin walked towards it, he was sure that he saw it blink. The other was titled “Juggling”, and was aptly named, as it featured a performing juggler, set against a brown background with a magenta frame. Martin was just about to walk past it when somehow, it spoke.  
“What year was I born?”  
Martin stared at the painting, more confused than anything. “I… I don’t know?”  
“Oh, come now, young man! You have to guess!”  
“I mean, I’d say sometime in the 1800s, since that’s when Orsinov lived-”  
“W-r-o-n-g! But, but, but, you are quite a striking fellow! So, I’ll give it to you for free! 6-2-2-3!” The juggler spun around a few times before tossing one of his balls out of the painting. It landed at Martin’s feet, and up close he could see that it was, in fact, a blue ball of paint.  
“Thank…” Martin looked back up, but the juggler had gone still again. “...you?” He knelt down once again to pick up the ball, but again it disappeared, and so he moved on, opening the door to the final room of the area.  
Inside was a room so filled with gas that it was hard to see, let alone breathe. He could faintly see a vase at the back of the room, a small round object to the right, and what looked like an umbrella to the left, but he quickly left the room before he could pick up any of them, coughing. He’d only been inside for a moment, it seemed, so when he checked, his rose hadn’t lost any petals yet, but it did seem like he would need to explore the room to continue on.  
He took a few seconds to steel himself, then opened the door again, dashing to the left to grab the umbrella, then going back out, slamming the door behind him. He had to pause for a minute there, with his back against the door, coughing violently and heaving for air. Once he had recovered somewhat, he headed over to the blue vase and restored his rose. He stayed there for a moment, examining the object he had gotten from the room.  
It was, indeed, an umbrella, and it looked like it still worked. It was painted a bright red color. Looking closer at the handle, it seemed to be exactly the same size and shape of the fisherman’s hook he had seen earlier, including the sharp edge. Taking care not to poke himself, he walked over to “Fishing Hook”, comparing the two. On an impulse, he placed the umbrella handle onto the hook, and almost instantly the line retracted back into the painting, then up and out of it entirely, along with the umbrella. The picture was now completely blank, aside from the blue background. Martin watched it disappear, then headed back for the gas room.  
This time when he went inside, he turned right, attempting to pick up the spherical object. Up close, he could see that it was purple, but before he could touch it, it vanished- just like the other paint balls. He didn’t waste any more time in the room, though, and left once again to restore his rose. He was just about to turn back around when he noticed that the clown doll was still following him, with another message painted to its right.  
 **“Hey, what’re you doing? I wanna play, too…”**  
Martin backed away quickly. It seemed like there was only one thing left to do in the gas room- when he had tried to pick up the violet ball of paint, he had just managed to see out of the corner of his eye a cord in the very back of the room, to the left of the vase. If he planned this right, he could go to the vase, restore his rose in there, then pull the cord, and hope that he lived to see it through. There weren’t really many other options, seeing that every other room was locked, and he didn’t see a way to turn off the gas.  
I’m not going to die here, he told himself, before heading to the room one last time to enact his plan.  
Amazingly, it seemed to work- and when he pulled the cord, the gas in the room dissipated. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he started to walk back- then noticed that for whatever reason, there was water dripping from the ceiling now, landing directly in the vase. He looked inside the vase, which was somehow now full again, and took out his rose to restore it.  
When Martin left the gas room, it didn’t seem like anything outside had changed noticeably, so he made a quick loop around the room to check for anything new. There- in the bottom-left corner, a yellow paint ball lay on the floor. Martin knelt to pick it up, and again it vanished before he could touch it. The second it did, though, a loud, but slightly muffled scraping noise came from somewhere behind him. He turned around, searching for where the noise had come from, and after a moment ended up in front of the Tree Room.  
The plaque of the tree that hung above the door was now blossoming with flowers, and inside, the three bookshelves that had blocked off the right side were gone. Immediately in front of him, Martin could see a pink ball of paint. He tried to pick it up, it disappeared, and he kept going, looking through some of the books in the new area.  
“Collected Works of Orsinov”  
 **“The Hanged Man (6219)**  
 **Once this illustration became renowned, it was sold for a limited time as an actual tarot card using the picture. Presently, it is nearly impossible for one to find the card.”**  
 **“Marvelous Night (6198)**  
 **A work depicting a massive aurora that abruptly appeared a year before.”**  
Martin flipped through the pages idly, before landing on one that made his heart stop.  
 **“Stranger (????)**  
 **The last work of Orsinov’s life. While the woman appears almost lifelike, naturally, she is not based on a real person.”**  
On the page was a picture of a painting. The woman it featured had pale skin, blonde hair cut short, and striking blue eyes. She wore a familiar green dress with a blue ribbon…  
Martin almost dropped the book.  
“Oh god. Oh my god… Sasha’s not real, and she’s with Jon right now… Okay, okay, okay… Oh god, what do I do…?” He was suddenly interrupted from his panicking by a faint, raspy voice coming from his right. A painting there, titled “Strained Ear”, was whispering something.  
 _“I heard Sasha’s secret…”_  
Martin barely paid any attention to it, though. “I need to find Jon. I need to find…”  
He left the room, hardly even noticing that the clown doll was no longer there. He walked down towards the hallway he had come in from, not really sure where he was going, when he saw that the doll had moved to sit right next to the door to the large circular room in the center. A message beside it read, **“I picked up something good… I’m making it my treasure!”** Looking closer at the doll, its stomach did seem to be bigger. Martin grimaced, but carefully tore open its pink top and removed the object inside- a red paint ball. It disappeared, and the doll chittered a few times before bouncing away into the circular room, the door of which was now wide open.  
Martin walked forward and stared into the blackness that waited beyond, taking a deep breath before entering.  
This was the most dolls Martin had ever seen in one place in his life. They sat on small benches like an audience, and several more were littered across the floor. As he entered, all of them simultaneously turned their heads to stare at him. In the very back of the room was a painting with a black inner frame, a reddish-brown outer frame, and a completely blank, whitish-grey background. And there, in the center of the room, lay the final, pure white ball of paint. Martin inched forward to take it, and it disappeared just like the rest. To his left, the clown doll that had tormented him all this time sat, a final message written to its right:  
 **“Welcome to our home…”**  
Martin turned around, aiming to leave the room as soon as possible, but for some reason the door was closed. He blinked- he was sure he’d left it open?  
He walked up to the door and rattled its knob a few times, then a few more times when it became apparent that the door was locked and wasn’t going to open any time soon. He looked up and flinched as writing started to appear on the door all on its own:  
 **“Let’s have another treasure hunt…**  
 **Who? Who? Who has the key?”**  
Martin turned around just as the room began to shake, and a plastic hand began to emerge from the blank painting in the back of the room. Frantic, he started ripping open random dolls, to no avail. One contained a mere pebble, one had blue paint inside that spilled out all over his hands, one was filled with hair, another revealed a still-wriggling bug inside its stomach…  
The Ringmaster continued to emerge from the painting, her mouth now wide in an eerie grin. Both of her hands were out of the painting now, and if she just got a little bit closer, she might be able to grab him…  
Martin began to scream.  
“JON!! Jon, help!! Someone, please!!”  
Nobody came.  
He pounded on the door a few times, tears streaming down his face. “Please… Please…”  
The room went red, and he was lost.

Jon and Sasha exited the room where the painting “A Lone Keyhole” hung and returned to the main room. Outside, nothing had obviously changed, and no rooms had unlocked, either, but as they made their way back to the center of the area Jon noticed that the “Fisherman” painting was different. The man had apparently caught something, and was lifting his rod out of the water to look at it. Jon walked over to see, Sasha following behind him, and as they watched, the fisherman turned the rod towards them, dangling the object it had caught out of the painting. It was a red umbrella, still a little wet, but it seemed like it still worked. Jon picked it up, shook some of the water off of it, and looked back up at the fisherman.  
“Thank you?”  
The stick figure nodded, and cast his line into the water again. Sasha clapped her hands together once.  
“Oh! The ‘Lady Without Her Umbrella’ painting!”  
The two made their way back to the room with the mannequin heads, and Jon offered the umbrella up to the woman. She took it and opened it up, and the second she did, it started raining- in the painting, and in the room. Sasha looked up at the rain falling from the ceiling and once again, simply commented, “Strange.”  
They left the room and started to walk back to the center to see if anything else had changed, and after a moment, Sasha pointed to the corridor formerly filled with red gas.  
“Look.”  
The gas had dissipated for some reason, and at the end of the corridor a brown door was now visible. Sasha walked towards it, and it opened onto a set of stairs. The pair walked downwards until they reached a small room with a single painting and another set of stairs. The painting’s title read, “Aspiration”, and showed a brown-haired girl with pale skin. Her outfit was pink, and she slept underneath a light green blanket on a yellow crescent moon. It was set against a black background, mounted against a white matte, and surrounded by a decorative pink frame. The stairs, however, appeared to be blocked by yet another headless mannequin wearing a red dress.  
Sasha and Jon looked at each other. “We could try to move it?” Sasha suggested, and they did, but the statue didn’t budge.  
There was a brief moment of silence before Sasha spoke again. “Maybe something’s changed upstairs.”  
They walked back up the stairs to the main room of the brown area and began to check all the rooms again, until at last they reached the room that had previously been colorless.  
The color in the room seemed to have reappeared all of a sudden, and now a bridge the color of the rainbow spanned the gap, allowing safe passage to the small brown key on the other side. Jon hesitated, testing his weight on the bridge before going across, picking up the key and crossing back. Now that the color was back, the painting in the back of the room was clear as well: its title read, “Illusion”, and it was of various colored strings against a black background, drawn so that they formed a diagonal rainbow. It was surrounded by a silver frame.  
The two left the room with the key, and Jon walked forward to the last door in the area, the one that was locked. The key fit perfectly, and opened onto another room that contained a staircase, along with a large painting. It didn’t have a name, and it depicted a brown, open-mouthed fish facing downwards, appearing to have produced a brown droplet that fell from its mouth. It was set against a purple-striped, blue background, mounted against a black matte, and surrounded by a decorative grey frame. They walked down the stairs until they came into a room that looked exactly the same as the one at the top of the stairs, but this room’s painting was of a purple, open-mouthed fish facing upwards. It seemed like it was about to eat the same brown droplet from the painting in the room above. It was set against a red-striped, pink background, mounted against a black matte, and surrounded by a decorative pink frame. More importantly, though, the walls and floors of this room were purple- they had re-entered the violet area. Jon took the lead now, and opened the door to enter (unbeknownst to him) the same large room that Martin had been trapped inside, with the circular room still standing at the center. Distantly, he thought he could hear someone talking, but they were too far away to tell. As they got closer to the source of the noise, Jon could make out fragments of words and sentences, but nothing that made much sense, until at last they stood in front of the open door to the circular room.  
Inside, Jon now saw the room for what it was- but what scared him more was the man kneeling on the floor, talking excitedly to one of the clown dolls. It was Martin, certainly, but something was… wrong about him.  
“Oh, really? Me too! Wow, we get along so well, Nikola!” He laughed to himself. “Nikola, Nikola… Kind of a weird name, huh…? Oh, do you want to hear some of mine? It’s not too good, I’ll warn you.” He paused, listening to the doll give a response that nobody else could hear. “Well, if you say so! Here goes: ‘The streets are hard in London. / Paved in old secrets, the-’”  
Martin continued to rattle off his poetry, even when Jon blocked his view of the doll and waved a hand in front of his face a few times. Even shaking him by the shoulders didn’t do a thing. “Martin! Martin, can you hear me?”  
Evidently, Martin couldn’t hear him. By now he had finished his poem, and was talking normally to the doll again.  
“Oh, yeah, yeah, I know the feeling. You know you can’t run away, but nothing seems to go your way, either…” He paused again, listening to the doll. “I’m with you there! Definitely better to just let the bad memories slip away…”  
“...Maybe this is a fake? After all, why would the real Martin be here?” Sasha asked, but Jon shook his head determinedly.  
“Martin! Martin, snap out of it!”  
Desperate and out of options, Jon slapped him, hard, across the face. Immediately Martin went quiet, staring at Jon with a look of vague confusion.  
“Martin!!”  
“...J...Jon…? I-ow…” He touched his cheek, where Jon had hit him, wincing. “You… Why are you… here…?” He stood up, somewhat unsteadily. “What’s going on…?”  
Sasha looked on with disdain as Jon embraced Martin. Martin seemed surprised, but he returned the hug.  
“Um… okay then…? I… I’m not really sure what happened, but… sorry for worrying you…?”  
Finally Jon released him. “I’m so sorry, Martin, I won’t leave you again, I won’t-”  
“Jon, Jon, it’s okay, it’s alright…”

The three of them left the room together once Jon and Martin were done having their moment.  
“Sorry- I-I can’t quite remember what I was doing, so…? Is there somewhere we need to go next?”  
Jon started to explain, but Sasha cut in before he could.  
“Well, you don’t really need to remember, do you? The three of us are back together, isn’t that good enough?”  
Martin blinked a few times. “Um- I guess, but… I feel like… like there was something important… I wonder what it was…”  
Sasha waited a few seconds before speaking again, her tone now somewhat impatient. “Anyway. We found a staircase, so…?”  
“O-Okay… Let’s go, then.”  
Sasha led the way, and Jon took Martin’s hand before following along behind her towards the entrance to the brown area.  
When they reached the top of the stairs, Martin paused.  
“Sasha, you dropped…” He bent down to pick up the yellow rose Sasha had left behind, then stopped, trailing off. “This… is…?”  
“Let go of that.”  
Sasha had turned around to face them, her expression dark. Martin’s eyes went wide.  
“You-You’re…”  
“I said, let GO!”  
Her face was wrong. Everything was wrong. It was Sasha, but it wasn’t Sasha- her limbs were too long, her body too thin, her eyes were wild, she was too tall, she-  
The thing that was not Sasha lunged for the rose, swiping at Martin’s hand. He dropped it, crying out in pain, and the creature snatched it. In the same moment, Jon pushed Martin towards the door, yelling, “Go, go, go!”, and they ran back out into the brown area, Jon slamming the door shut behind them, then locking it with the same small key from earlier. Behind the door, the Not-Them continued to growl their names, but Jon just grabbed Martin by his uninjured hand and ran for the door that led to the stairway blocked by the mannequin.  
They arrived in the room, and Martin shoved the statue to the side before letting Jon go down first, into the darkness that waited below.


	9. sketchbook and final area

Immediately the area Jon and Martin found themselves in now was different. The stairs from the brown area just led down, down, down, until they turned pink and suddenly there were no longer any walls or floors, just empty void. When they looked up, the area above them had disappeared, too, leaving them traversing an endless stairway in a black night sky, complete with faint white doodles of stars floating in the distance. Occasionally, a randomly-colored shooting star would pass overhead.  
At last they reached the bottom of the stairs, where a scribbled pink pathway led off to the right. The moment Jon stepped onto it, dozens of random doodles opened in the sky like eyes. There was a red sun, a yellow moon, a pink heart…  
As the pathway continued, the sky changed. Now even it looked like it had been drawn by a child, and blue and red stars hung above them, along with a yellow crescent moon. Every now and again a meteor would crash into the path just in front of them, and they would jump back.  
The stars changed to orange and green shooting stars, and the shooting stars changed to pitch-black scribbles. Text written messily on the not-wall to their right read “Sketchbook” in blue lettering, with a white arrow pointing forwards. Jon gripped Martin’s hand a little tighter, and they advanced.  
Finally they arrived. The pathway branched off to the right here, and small flower doodles grew near the side of the path, one yellow, one orange, and two blue, one of which hadn’t quite blossomed yet. In the distance, there was a faint sound of chimes jingling. Ahead of the branch in the road was a white house drawn in crayon with a brown door, red roof, and blue window. Jon walked up to it and tried the door. Somehow, it opened, and Jon smiled.  
“Dream logic.”  
“What?”  
“This whole place, it’s- it’s dream logic. Things make sense here that could only make sense in dreams. Like this.” And with that, Jon swung the door open and stepped inside the house.  
The inner walls of the house were drawn in black, and a scribbled table and two stools sat in the center. In the back was a framed drawing of a man with black hair and a red shirt. To the left of the drawing was a bookshelf, and to its right was a clock. Jon went right to the bookshelf, pulling out books at random.  
“And this. See, these are all just drawings, but I can open them and read them.”  
They left the house and continued down the path, ignoring the branch to the right for now. Up ahead was a large sign with a white scribble all over it, so that it was entirely illegible, another path branching off to the right, and another building. This one had two doors, with a doodle of a paint palette over one and a doodle of a clown doll over the other. Both were locked, though, and so they carried on forwards.  
Past the building with two doors, the path they were on turned right, and so they turned right with it. Some trees could be seen growing in the distance, replacing the flowers that had been blooming along the path so far. As they walked along the path, though, Jon suddenly stopped, staring out to the left.  
There, hanging in thin air from a red string, was himself, or something that looked remarkably like himself. It wasn’t moving.  
“Jon? What’s wrong?” Martin asked, trying to find where Jon was looking.  
Jon wordlessly pointed to the figure.  
“...Um? There’s nothing there?”  
Jon blinked a few times, making sure he wasn’t just imagining it, and when the figure didn’t go away, he sighed and shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just- Just dream logic again, I guess…”  
Martin still seemed concerned, but they kept going. To the left now was a small, fenced-in enclosure, where three yellow butterflies flew around. The space didn’t have a roof, but for some reason none of them were trying to escape. To the right, the path split off again, and another house stood opposite some trees. They nearly walked past it when Martin paused.  
“Jon, wait.”  
He walked over to the house, and Jon could see that there was writing on the door.  
 **“There are instructions on the pink building! Read them to open this door.”**  
“Would… this place really give us such an easy clue?” Martin wondered aloud, but Jon didn’t have an answer for him.  
They kept on the forward path, until after a while Jon spoke up.  
“Martin.”  
“Hm?”  
“I think this place is like a square, and there’s something in the center. That’s why so many paths have led to the right- I think they all lead to the same place.”  
“Yeah, that makes sense. Should we-?”  
“I was thinking we explore the outer square first, then go to the middle?”  
“Right.”  
Ahead the path turned right once again, and to the left a doodle of a familiar white snake with a red eye slithered on the not-wall. An orange sun blazed above them, casting a small circle of heat on the ground. Directly in front was a blue building, its door frozen over with ice. Above the door stretched a curved white line with more lines coming out from it, like a closed eye.  
To the right, flowers again bloomed on the sides of the path, large tulips colored red, blue, and yellow. Another white house (its door was locked, too) stood here, and the path branched off to the right again.  
The path forward continued towards a vast blue pond. The water was lukewarm to the touch, and yet more flowers and some grass grew all around it. The path curved right again, towards a forest of dead, brown trees. Something was written in green crayon in the distance, but it was too far away to make out. The path also branched right here, and the path they were following came back to the first white house, proving Jon’s theory.  
In the center of the Sketchbook stood a pink house, just like the message from earlier had indicated. Its door was locked, but blue text written on its front wall read, “The pink key is always kept in the toy box.” Behind the pink house was a solid metal vase, possibly the only real thing in the entire area. Once the message on the pink house’s wall had been read, a clicking noise rang out from the left, and Jon and Martin went to investigate the source of the sound.  
Sure enough, the door to the house that had instructed them to head to the pink house was now open. Inside were two rooms, as compared to the previous house’s one. A coat rack stood to the right of the door, and a vase of roses sat on a table in the center. There was a blue window to the left of the door, but it was impossible to see out of due to it being made of crayon, not glass. A wall divided this room from the other, but it didn’t quite reach the opposite wall, so there was a small section where the room could be entered. In the other room were two empty drawers, a pink rabbit stuffed animal, and a large blue bucket. Remembering the pond, Jon picked up the bucket. When Martin looked at him, confused, Jon began to explain, “I think-”  
Jon didn’t get a chance to say what he thought, though, as the door to the house suddenly creaked open, and a heavily distorted but still recognizable voice rang out.  
“Jooon? Maaartin…”  
Jon and Martin stood perfectly still in the second room, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn’t come in and see them. After a few moments, the door closed again. Jon let out the breath he had been holding, whereas Martin nearly began to hyperventilate.  
“That- That was Sasha? How did she- How did she follow-?”  
“This is her domain, Martin- she’s the one in control here, not us.”  
“That doesn’t really make me feel better, Jon!”  
Jon shrugged, trying not to betray the fear he felt, too. “Sorry.”  
They left the house cautiously, looking to either side to make sure that Sasha wasn’t there, waiting for them. When they were sure it was safe, they continued moving, and Jon led them to the pond. He filled the bucket with water, then stood back.  
“...What now?”  
Jon thought for a moment.  
“The tulip that hadn't bloomed yet. Where we first entered this place?”  
Martin nodded.  
When they arrived at said first area, the pathway leading back to the endless pink stairs was gone. There was nothing to be said about this, though- the brown area had disappeared already, so it wasn’t like those stairs had led anywhere. Jon approached the light blue flower and gently poured the water on it. It blossomed, revealing a small blue key, the same shade as the tulip.  
Jon picked up the key and headed to the left, intending to try it on every door they came across, but it turned out they didn’t need to try more than one. One of the doors to the large building, the one with a paint palette over it, opened when the key was placed in its lock.  
Inside the gallery, the walls were covered in three large doodles- one of Jon, one of Martin, and one of Sasha. Sasha seemed happiest, and next to her a small drawing of a clown doll held up her yellow rose. Jon’s eyes had been colored in completely green, staring out with a blank expression, and Martin was frowning as a light blue fog enveloped him. In the center of the hallway was a grey box, with pink text written over it reading, “Pandora’s Box”, along with an arrow pointing to it.  
Jon walked towards it, but Martin held him back.  
“Jon. Jon, you know the myth of Pandora’s Box?”  
“Yes, I know, but if there truly was hope at the bottom of the box, then…”  
“...It might be something we need,” Martin finished, sounding somewhat exasperated. “Alright, go ahead.” He took a few steps back, and Jon stepped forward to open it.  
The second its lid came open, a flurry of doodles flew in every direction. They ducked to avoid getting hit, and amidst the chaos Jon could make out a few shapes: a green eye, a yellow spiral, an orange sun, a red knife…  
At the very bottom of the box lay a small, silver mirror. Jon held it up, smiling. “Hope.”  
They left the gallery, and it quickly became apparent that something had changed. To the left of the path, a sign stood with the same red knife Jon had just seen fly out of Pandora’s Box stabbed into it, leaking red paint. Jon walked up to it and attempted to pull it out, but it was stuck fast. He looked at Martin, but Martin just shrugged.  
The butterfly enclosure was different now, too- one of the insects was gone, the second was flapping around frantically, and the third lay broken on the ground. A purple spider was munching happily on one of its wings.  
In the area with the blue building, the sun seemed to blaze brighter and hotter than before. Jon stepped into the circle of heat and placed the mirror on the ground at an angle, reflecting the sunlight onto the frozen door. The ice melted, leaving the door ready to be opened. Jon started walking towards it right away, but Martin stopped him.  
“Hey, Jon?”  
Jon turned back to face Martin.  
“If… When we get out of here, do you…” Martin’s face had gone bright red, and he was fidgeting nervously with his hands. “Do you, um… Want to…” He mumbled something, too fast and jumbled together to make out.  
“What?”  
“Do you want to go out for lunch or something? You-You don’t have to, of course, I just- I just thought-”  
“Martin. Are you asking me out?”  
Martin nodded, not meeting Jon’s eyes.  
“On a date?”  
“Yes, yes, I am, but if you don’t want to-”  
“I would be happy to go on a date with you, Martin.”  
Martin squeaked, going an even brighter red. “Oh! Oh, okay! Great!”  
Jon smiled, before turning back around to the blue building. “Let’s focus on getting out of here, first, though.”  
“Right! Yeah! Of course!” Martin followed behind him, still blushing some.  
Inside the blue building, a clock continuously ticked, even though there didn’t appear to be a clock in the building. Eight red buttons lay on the floor, with a pink line connecting each of them to form a square. In the center of them was a jumble of white and red lines that seemed to form a childish illustration of an explosion? It was hard to tell. On the wall in front of them, a series of illustrations were marked out in crayon, all with a white line pointing between them to make a spiral shape:  
Black skull and crossbones → Purple spider → Green eye → Orange sun → Grey ant → Yellow spiral → Brown wolf → Red knife  
Jon stared at the drawings for a moment, before finally saying, “Ohh.” He turned, and seeing Martin’s look of confusion, began to explain.  
“We’ve been seeing some new things in some areas of this place, right? I think that the illustrations here-” -he gestured to the wall- “-are meant to guide us in the order we press the buttons. Each button corresponds to a different area, and we have to press them based on which of these symbols we see in each area. Like the knife in the sign, and the spider in the butterfly enclosure?”  
“Oh! Okay, so we just have to look for the symbols,” Martin summed up, and Jon nodded. “Let’s go, then!”  
They left the building and went on a short walk around the entire area, noting each symbol they came across. They had already seen the red knife, the purple spider, and the orange sun, but continuing around to the right, the order of the symbols was:  
A black skull and crossbones painted onto the door of the white house in the north, a giant green eye that blinked open over the pond in the northeast, a brown wolf hidden in the trees in the east, a grey ant hidden inside a page of a book in the southeast, and finally, a yellow spiral painted onto a bulletin board in the south.  
With the symbols memorized, Jon and Martin walked back to the blue building, entered, and pressed the buttons accordingly. After the final button had been pressed, there was a soft ding!, and a small, plastic key appeared in the center. Jon picked it up.  
“Shall we find out what this unlocks?”  
As it turned out, it unlocked the white house to the north, and the two of them entered to find a completely white room, devoid of absolutely any furniture or decorations save for a single, large, blue box at the very back of the room. Its label read “Toy Box”.  
“Hey, Jon? Didn’t the sign earlier say that the pink key was kept in the toy box?”  
“Yes, it did…”  
Jon had stepped up to the edge of the box. It was truly huge, big enough for a person to fit in. Inside was mere blackness, making it impossible to see a thing.  
“Do you think we should-”  
Martin never got to finish his sentence, instead cutting off with a surprised shriek as he was pushed forward into the depths. Jon whipped around just in time to see Not-Sasha in all her monstrous glory, before she shoved him with one too-long hand backwards, into the void.

Jon came to with a pounding headache, and a sharp pain in his left arm. On instinct, he screamed, but no one came. Wasn’t… Wasn’t someone supposed to come help him?  
Martin. Martin, where was Martin…?  
God, everything hurt so much, and…  
His rose. Where was his rose? How many petals did it have? With his working arm, and careful not to jostle the injured one, he looked through the pocket of his skirt.  
Nothing.  
His rose was gone, it was gone, something could be plucking the petals off right now…  
He got to his feet, swayed a few times from the dizziness, and started off to find it.  
The Toy Box was somehow even more chaotic than any other area in the Sketchbook had been so far. Doodles of clown dolls, mannequin heads, flowers, stars, candy, a pink cat, and several of the symbols from earlier littered the floor and the walls. Aside from the doodles, however, the place was completely colored in black. Clown dolls and mannequins stood ominously around, unmoving. What was more concerning, though, were the pink and blue rose petals scattered on the floor. Jon slowly followed the path to his own rose, every step sending a fresh jolt of pain through his broken arm. At last he reached it and picked it up. Only one petal remained. Then, he staggered back to the other side of the room, calling out Martin’s name. He finally found him, laying on his stomach, giving no sign of having heard Jon. Panicked, Jon called his name a few more times, before shaking him a few times with his good arm.  
“Martin, Martin, wake-” He broke off to cough a few times into his sleeve. “-wake up…”  
After a few moments, Martin started to come around, groaning through the pain.  
“Ow, ow… J...Jon? What happened…?” He sat up, then noticed the angle Jon’s left arm was hanging at. “Are you okay…?!”  
“I-I think it’s broken- Nothing to worry about-”  
“Oh my god… I wish there was something around here to make a splint, but… I’m so sorry. Can you handle it for now?”  
If Jon was being honest, he was starting to feel faint again, but he nodded, and Martin stood up.  
“Alright. We just have to find the key and get out. We just have to find the key…”  
They found the pink key underneath the drawing of the cat. Unfortunately, though, the second Martin’s fingers closed around it, a bell rang out, and every single doll and statue in the room turned to stare at the two of them. Martin just had time to mutter, “Oh no,” before they attacked.  
There was no time to talk- Martin picked Jon up (Jon yelped- Martin was actually quite strong) and started to run for the exit, every enemy in the toy box on his heels.  
Miraculously, they found the exit without any more injury, and Martin let go of Jon, then slammed the door shut before anything could get through, breathing hard. Jon stumbled, and Martin reached out a hand to steady him before he could fall.  
“It’s okay, it’s okay. We’ll find a vase somewhere, and everything’ll be fine, okay? We just have to keep going a little bit further.”  
Jon blinked away the black spots crowding his vision and nodded again, weakly. He trailed behind Martin as they walked up stairs, turned left down a hallway, then right up even more stairs, as the doodles on the wall changed from blue stars to pink stars to yellow roses.  
After a long ascent, they finally emerged in the main room of the house. Something was different, though- the walls’ color had changed to pink, and the lights had been turned off. Large vines and yellow roses blocked off a staircase in the back that had previously been blocked by the Toy Box, which had disappeared. The door they had come in from was closed now, and upon closer inspection, it was locked, too.  
Martin walked up to the vines, touched one, and immediately drew his hand back.  
“She doesn’t want us to go up there, but the door’s locked… Kind of sending mixed messages.” He paused before turning back to Jon. “Jon, do you still have that lighter?”  
Jon nodded once more, pulling out the lighter from his pocket and handing it to Martin.  
“Okay. Stand back.” He flicked the lighter’s button, and touched the resulting flame to the vines. They must have been incredibly dry, because they went up in an instant, disintegrating within seconds.  
“Just a little bit further. Just a little bit further…”  
Up the stairs was a long corridor. Yellow roses were scattered around on the floor, along with some clown dolls and mannequin heads. At the very back of the room hung an empty painting frame, the canvas itself having been ripped open so that all that remained were a few yellow flowers at the bottom of the paper.  
Martin took a few steps forward. “That’s-!”  
“Hello, Jon, Martin.”  
The pair whipped around. The thing that was not Sasha stood there, returned to her original form, but holding a small palette knife.  
“You shouldn’t have come here. Leave. Now.”  
Martin backed up a few steps, but made no other move.  
Not-Sasha roared, her shape once again becoming wrong, and red cracks split the floor. “NOW!!!”  
She gave chase, and Jon and Martin ran towards the end of the hallway. But even if they did make it, there were no hidden exits. They were trapped, and Not-Sasha was still charging towards them.  
Then, suddenly, Martin smiled, holding up the still-lit lighter. Not-Sasha stopped.  
“No. No-! NO!!!”  
She screamed, and her painting went up in flames, the glass of its covering shattering. When it had been reduced to nothing but ash, she took a few shaky steps back, in her original form for the last time. She began to blacken at the edges, like the fire was lapping at her as well, until at last she crumbled into nothing. The palette knife clattered to the floor.  
“...It’s over. It’s over, it’s over…” Martin released the lighter’s button before dropping it, leaning on the wall for support. “We did it. She’s gone…” He took a few moments to catch his breath before continuing. “Let’s get to a vase.”  
“Martin. Your-Your hand, it’s…”  
“Oh.” It seemed that when the painting’s cover had broken, a glass shard had embedded itself into Martin’s right hand. “Oh- it’s fine, I’m okay. It’s just a little cut. Your arm’s much worse. Come on, let’s go.”  
Martin slung Jon’s good arm around his shoulder to help support him as they walked, and they slowly went down the stairs. The door to the house was open now, and they walked outside, down the path, and to the vase behind the pink house. Jon dipped his rose into the water and gasped as his arm reset itself, healing in an instant. He took it back out, all seven petals intact, and put it in his pocket. There was no water left in the vase.  
“Martin-”  
“It’s fine, Jon. You needed it more. I’ll be alright.”  
“Your hand’s still bleeding.”  
“Jon-”  
Jon leaned down and ripped a piece of fabric off the bottom of his skirt, then took Martin’s hand in his own. “Stay still.” He removed the glass shard, and Martin hissed in pain before Jon tied the cloth around the injury. “There.”  
“...Thank you.”  
Jon gave him a soft smile, before turning to the door of the pink house. He took the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.  
Inside, it took a moment for Jon to realize what had changed. The room inside was real again, not doodled, and a long pink staircase led down. Jon took Martin’s uninjured hand, and they started downwards.

As the stairs descended, their color gradually changed from pink to black. It was dark enough already, but the color change made it nearly impossible to see, and so Jon and Martin held onto each other’s hands a little tighter as they made their way down.  
At the bottom of the stairway, a wide hallway turned to the left, and they walked down it only to find themselves suddenly in an all-too familiar place.  
It was the gallery, the real art gallery, but not- the walls and floors were still black, and outside the windows was pure void.  
“We’re almost there,” Jon whispered, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “We’re almost home.” Martin squeezed his hand, and they made their way up the stairs to the second floor, then down a long hallway to a familiar painting.  
“Fabricated World”  
It looked different now, somehow- it was still just as chaotic, but Jon felt like it showed a different world- the one on the other side of the painting. As they watched, the painting’s golden frame shimmered, then disappeared, its surface rippling as if made of water.  
Jon and Martin turned to each other. They embraced, holding each other for a long few seconds. Finally Martin released Jon.  
“Let’s go home.”  
Together, they jumped into their ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like the quality of my writing went down suddenly with this chapter but :/  
> so yes i absolutely did quote swan song by the mechanisms but can you blame me it's such a good song and i- i just-
> 
> ok so essentially this is the final chapter. there is a short epilogue, but this is it! they done made it! good for them!


	10. epilogue - promise of reunion

In an art gallery, Jonathan Sims stood in front of a painting. Its title read “Fabricated World”, and he looked at it for a moment before shrugging and walking to the next exhibit. For some reason he felt like he was forgetting something important…  
He made his way through the museum, classical music playing softly from a speaker in the distance. Down the stairs, then a left turn, then a right…  
He found himself standing before a sculpture he had already passed. Named “Embodiment of Spirit”, it was a larger-than-life statue of a dark blue rose that seemed almost familiar, now that he was looking at it again.  
A man was standing next to him, also staring wistfully at the sculpture. Jon almost paid him no mind, but then he looked again, and- hadn’t he seen him somewhere before…?  
“Hello?”  
The man jumped- clearly he hadn’t noticed Jon standing next to him. “Oh- Um, hello?”  
Jon took a second to calm himself- his heart was suddenly pounding, and he wasn’t sure why. “Do… I know you?”  
“Um… not sure, sorry.”  
He turned back to the statue, and Jon did, too.  
“You know, it’s kind of strange. For some reason, this sculpture… makes me feel really sad. I wonder why.”  
Jon decided not to mention that he felt the same way.  
“Oh, that was probably kind of a depressing thing to say… Sorry, Jon.”  
Jon froze.  
“Wait. Wait- Jon? Sorry- you must look like someone I know-?”  
“No, no, that’s my name- how do you know my name?”  
“I don’t- I don’t know… Sorry, I’m probably just bothering you, I’ll-I’ll go.”  
The man started to walk off, then stopped suddenly. “Hang on… This… wasn’t there before…?” He was staring at his hand, which was wrapped in a soft blue fabric. “What the hell…?” He turned back to Jon. “Okay, this is probably really creepy, but isn’t this a part of…?”  
Jon walked closer to look at it, and sure enough, it seemed to be made up of the exact same material of his skirt, even though the skirt he had on was whole.  
“Hang on, there’s blood on this… I-” His eyes went wide. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Jon, Jon! We did it, we escaped, we-” He stopped, seeing Jon’s look of fear and confusion. “You don’t remember, do you?”  
Jon shook his head. “Um, I think I should leave-”  
“No, Jon, wait! Remember? We were together, through the whole cursed gallery, with the paintings and statues, and-and Sasha- and I gave you a piece of candy. Jon, look in your pocket!” The man was practically bouncing up and down from excitement.  
Still bewildered, Jon reached into his pocket and took out a small, pink candy…  
All of a sudden, he remembered. “...Martin… Martin! We made it!” They laughed together, and Martin pulled Jon into a hug.  
After a good few moments, Martin stepped back. “So, um… if you’re interested… the offer still stands? To, uh, go… out with me?”  
Jon smiled, feeling the happiest he’d ever been in his life. “Martin, of course I will go on a date with you.”  
“Great! Good! Okay! Um, are you free next week? We could meet up…”

Jon left the museum with Martin’s phone number in his skirt pocket and the clear memories of an art gallery visit that he would never forget.  
God, Tim was never going to believe a word of this…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am a sucker for jonmartin soft moments  
> i don't really know what to say here, but thank you all so much for reading if you made it through to the end!!!! this is my first fic ever on ao3, so i was kinda scared about posting it but! yeah thank you again :D  
> uh the magnus archives is a podcast distributed by rusty quill and licensed under a creative commons, non-attribution, sharealike, 4.0 international license  
> ib is a horror/RPG video game created by kouri  
> characters and setting are not mine  
> that's all!


End file.
